Anthelion
by F12Scuderia
Summary: She likes books. He hates school. She is thoughtful. He is selfish. While she is light and sunshine, he is nothing but clouds and darkness. Opposites, right? Wrong! Because for someone like Tate, it would always be easy to drag her into the darkness with him. Or would it?
1. All Hallow's Eve

**Chapter 01**

 _ **All Hallow's Eve**_

* * *

"What are you reading this time?"

She looked up, a little astounded, and saw the charming smile given by her friend. Her shoulders shrugged in reply, as her fingers lightly brushed her brown locks off her forehead. She closed the book, making sure the yellow bookmark was still there, and showed the cover which read _Markheim_.

"Ah, charming." Her friend rolled his eyes, but not out of disdain. He flopped beside her and asked, "Where'd you get that, in the nearest cemetery?"

"Ha-ha, you are funny." She opened her book and buried her nose back into the story. She was finally in the part where Markheim had pulled out a knife and killed the store-owner.

Lawrence, who had been watching her in silence as she continued to read, sighed. He leaned back, his arms supporting his upper weight, and looked up into the clear skies. His dark hair was shaved on the back and sides, which he most likely took the idea from One Direction's Zayn Malik. His best friend, who was now sitting beside him, had laughed at his face for two full minutes before pointing out that he looked nothing like the singer.

"It's Halloween," Lawrence told her, "in case you are forgetting."

"Your favourite part of the year." She nodded, without looking up from her small, red hardbound book.

"Sienna." He reached out and snatched the book from her hands. "It is Halloween and you are still reading! Give yourself a break, live a little! Rachel's throwing a party tonight in her place, and she has invited me."

"But not me, so go ahead to the party. You don't have to be babysat for one night, do you?"

"Actually..." He drawled, still keeping the book away from his friend's reach. "I need a date."

"Have you even asked your girlfriend yet?"

He made a little disgusted face. "Lauren and I broke up just last night. You are the only one I could think of, so I could get into the party and—"

"And you need a girl in your arms so that your frat brothers won't make fun of you," Sienna finished for him, glaring a little.

"Don't make it sound so mean," Lawrence murmured under his breath.

She weighed his statement for a little while; let the uncomfortable silence hang around them. It was a perfect day to finish a book, sitting in front of the beach with nothing to hear but the howls of the wind, cries of the gulls and the relaxing sounds of waves. Her sneakers were dug deep into the white sand, her loose blue cardigan billowing with the wind. Her brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun; she had no time to fix it at home especially when the thought of being alone in the beach was so inviting.

Finally, Sienna sighed.

"Okay, I am coming with you."

Lawrence beamed at once. He had a childlike gaiety at the thought of Halloween. "You will?"

"Yes." She nodded. "But I am not wearing lingerie and bunny ears."

"Of course!" He laughed out loud and embraced her. "You are the best!"

"I know." She held out her palm and said, "My book please."

* * *

Later that night, after hours of searching the internet for good ideas, Sienna came up with the simple ghost nurse costume, like the game she played, Silent Hill. She borrowed the costume from her neighbour, whose daughter was already graduated and worked somewhere in Arizona. She asked permission to smear the white uniform in red paint. She spent hours in front of the mirror staining herself with black makeup for her chest and neck, some filthy-looking bandages around her head, with only her left amber eye showing. It was hard to breathe in that, but she had no other options. She picked a pair of old white shoes that belonged to her aunt, and then borrowed a rusty wrench from the old men next door.

Lawrence knocked on her door at eight o'clock sharp, wearing black tuxedo and white undershirt, black pants and shoes. His hair was combed back neatly, his eyelids and lips also black, with a trail of red paint trickling from both corners of his mouth.

"Someone's prepared," he crooned, offering his arm to her.

Sienna struggled with the nurse uniform, but struggled more with her bandaged face except for her left eye. She mounted the motorcycle and held on to her friend's waist, while her other hand made sure her white nurse cap did not get blown away.

Upon arriving that Rachel's house, just at the end of town, the two friends approached the entrance. Lawrence politely knocked on the door, but the music inside the house was blasting and ear-piercing. Colourful neon lights circled around the house, bikes and cars lined up in the street. More and more teenagers filled in, which made Lawrence shrug and pull Sienna along with him inside.

The house was a complete mess.

"So, how about I get you a drink!?" Lawrence shouted at the top of his lungs, as he was unable to hear himself amidst the loud music and all the enthusiastic screaming of the other teenagers.

"Sounds good to me!" Sienna shouted back, and followed her friend further into the house. She held up one cup and tried to drink, but the orange juice was spilled all over the floor. She cursed her ghost nurse costume now and even more the bandage around her face.

Then, a group of three boys around their ages went forward.

"Yo, Law!" The first boy was wearing a red varsity jacket and white shirt, his bright idea of a Halloween costume.

"Took you long enough, man." The second one was no better; he was in a simple green shirt, so hugging tightly on his body that his muscles were accented. He cradled a red skateboard in his left arm, while his right hand kept on clapping anyone else on his sight.

"Nice costume, Law. Are you supposed to be Frankenstein?" As stupid as the third boy actually was, his costume was not half bad. He was dressed in a leathery pirate costume, complete with a maroon headband that seemed to have come from eBay. He had black make-up underneath his eyes, which made him look like a Captain Jack Sparrow-wannabe, especially when his light blond hair did go well with the rest of the costume.

Lawrence let out a little uncomfortable laugh. "Hey, guys. Sorry to be late, but I had to pick up my friend."

"Hey there." The one with green shirt and skateboard smirked at her.

"So, what are you supposed to be?" The jock in varsity jacket gestured at her appearance.

"Are you Frankenstein?" The Jack Sparrow-wannabe repeated to Lawrence.

"Actually, he is Count Dracula," Sienna interrupted, her voice muffled by the bandages. "It should be obvious with the fangs and the blood around the mouth. I am a ghost nurse, in case you are unfamiliar with Silent Hill."

"What's that?" Skateboard boy huffed. "Is that a metal band?"

She rolled her eyes—or eye, because her left eye was only shown. "It is a horror game."

"Never heard of it."

The seemingly ringleader of this group—Jock with the red jacket, as Sienna dubbed him—snatched a cup of juice and chugged it all down in three swallows. He burped and tossed the cup over his shoulder, and then smirked arrogantly at Lawrence. "You know Rachel has been looking for you, right? I mean, she _really_ looks forward in spending the night with you."

"Yeah?" Lawrence quirked an eyebrow. Sure, he had been dating Lauren for three months but she was more obsessed with her girlfriends that she did not have time to spend with him. Rachel Drake, however, was the pretty girl in school that everyone talked about, and was more accommodating that Lauren.

"She does," Jack Sparrow Jr. confirmed. "I think she is in the living room with the other guests."

Lawrence looked down at his friend and whispered, "Maybe I should go and see her."

"To sleep with her?" Sienna wanted to push him to the ground. "Lauren has better manners than Rachel, and you cannot just ditch me in this party! _You_ brought me here!"

"I know, I know." He shook his head and looked pleadingly into her eye. "Just a few minutes, okay? I know you have a book somewhere stuck in your costume. Why don't you read in the corner and I'll go fetch you?"

"Why do I always have to clean up after you?" She mumbled and glared on the tiled floor. She hated being the second option, to be the next best choice when the original plan did not work. It was the thing she hated with Lawrence, no matter how close they might be; he often involved her in his failed plans and then left her hanging on her own.

"Just... a couple of minutes, okay?"

"Fine, but be back after an hour!" She trudged back into the farthest corner she could find, still struggling with her aunt's white heels.

There was a space in the house that was not ravaged by teenagers with slutty costumes, or a couple making out on the couch or table. It was in the balcony of someone else's room, probably one of Rachel's younger sisters, but she was not home. Sienna unpinned the nurse cap and pulled the bandages down until it was rolled loosely around her neck. She kept _Markheim_ tucked in the uniform pocket, and pulled it out once she was prepared to read.

It was not even twenty minutes until the three boys from before entered the room: Jock the Ringleader, Skateboard boy, and Jack Sparrow-wannabe. She would have given them better names in her mind, but they all seemed like arrogant pricks to her. Jock was smirking down at her, Skateboard sat on the edge of the bed, while Sparrow was standing behind them, adjusting his brown leather vest.

"Whatcha readin'?" Skateboard asked.

" _Markheim_ ," she answered, although she was one hundred percent sure that he would not understand.

"Is it good?" Sparrow spoke this time, looking curious.

"Very good."

"Is it deep?" Jock flashed a charming smile.

"I think it would be deep if you're _good_." Skateboard snickered and embraced his skateboard closer.

Sienna did not fail to catch their meaning. Groaning, she stood up from the floor and pretended to dust her uniform. She tucked her book in the crook of her arm and attempted to pass through them, but Jock had grabbed her elbow and pushed her towards the balcony. She staggered for a while, her head spinning at the movement, and could hear the three of them holding back their laughter. She glared and frowned, tried to pass again, but Skateboard boy lifted his skateboard above and sent it smashing down to her head. Her vision darkened, her head hammering inside her skull, and her legs went numb underneath her.

* * *

Something was ripping; someone was touching her—all over her.

Her head still throbbed, but it was not her concern anymore. The three boys from the so-called Halloween party were hovering over her, their rough hands touching every inch of her skin, their breaths pungent with the scent of beer suffocating her. She saw Sparrow-wannabe holding down both of her arms, Skateboard boy was keeping her legs in check, while Jock grinned and tugged at his pants.

Sienna screamed in terror, and trashed her head around to get a better view. It seemed she was taken into a basement, a barren and frightening basement that had no light except from the moonlight that shone from the doorway. The floor was cold and uncomfortable; her legs kicked and kicked, and her chest heaved. Hot tears streamed down her face when Jock finally got his belt off, pulled his pants down and touched his disgusting member.

When he knelt between her legs, keeping that arrogant and mischievous look on his ugly face, Sienna screamed for help again and again.

"Shut up!" Jock slapped her across the cheek, though the stinging sensation was not her concern.

"Get off of me, you bastard!" She yelled and tried to kick him, but Skateboard held her legs tightly and Sparrow was quiet as he pinned her arms to the floor. "Please, please, get off! Lawrence! Somebody help me! Please, _please!_ "

"Law will be back in just a few minutes, sweetheart," Jock crooned in her ear, as his fingers eagerly tugged at her panties.

She twisted away from their strong grip, screamed, cried, begged for mercy. None of it worked. She felt the disgusting sensation of his member inside her, thrusting and him pounding into her. Her tears continued to roll, her makeup smeared all over her face. She gasped at the pain, cried to kick again, begged. Nothing. When Jock finally had enough of her crying and screaming, he switched places with Skateboard boy and did the same thing.

"Stop it! Please! I have seen better dicks in the internet, so stop embarrassing yourself!"

Amidst of her crying, Sienna saw a dark figure moving from the staircase. She tilted her head up and was surprised to see another boy standing there. He was tall and lean, with a melancholic look on his youthful face, and his curly blond locks framing his face. He did not seem to be with them, though he surely did not make any attempt to stop them.

"Please, help me!" She cried out to him, practically begging. "Please, please, help me!"

"I said shut up!" Skateboard boy slapped her this time, strong enough that her upper lip broke.

She growled and rasped, "Get off of me! How dare you touch me with your filthy hands! You're not even good at what you're doing right now!"

It might have been her imagination, but she heard the boy on the staircase snicker at her feisty comment.

"You little—"

Jock pushed Skateboard aside and wrapped his hands around her throat. When he noticed the roll of bandages clinging loosely around her neck, he grinned and used that instead. He tightened the bandages more and more, taking pleasure how Sienna's face whitened and her amber eyes bulged. Her mouth gasped for breath, and her arms and legs still pinned by the two other boys. Jock, still displeased with her attitude, tightened the bandages even more and banged her head continuously on the floor.

Sienna felt her world slowly darkening. She could see spots forming at corners of her vision, her lungs threatening to give away, her hands helplessly trying to get a hold of something. She felt the pain around her neck and the fear in her mind. When Jock gave one last force into her throat, she knew it was all over.

* * *

It was Halloween tonight, his favourite time of the year. He would have left the Murder House to stroll around town or to see the beach, but the sight of three high school boys dragging an unconscious girl into the basement made him change his mind. Truth be told, he was surprised that someone would barge into the house, especially when it had numerous gruesome stories. He had checked the main door before following the three boys to the basement, and made sure Thaddeus would not scare them away.

The girl had much spirit in her; Tate Langdon had to give her that. She had screamed and thrashed around, and when that did not work, she insulted the three boys assaulting her. Tate could not help but laugh at the last comment, before the ringleader grabbed the girl by the throat and suffocated the life out of her. When she stopped screaming and gasping for air, Tate felt a little sorry; he had enjoyed so much to see her struggle. In some other life, he would have killed her himself, because he only killed the people he liked.

What fun it also was when the boys realized what they had done. The one with light blond hair in a pirate costume looked horrified enough to pee himself right then and there. The two others panicked and rushed upstairs, passing by Tate without one of them noticing.

 _Show's over for now I guess._

He heard Thaddeus scuffling towards the lifeless girl, whose nurse uniform was tattered open from chest to her waist. Her brown hair was a mess, her empty amber eyes still damp with her tears. Thaddeus closed in on her, sniffed, and snarled.

"Woah, big guy." Tate stopped the crawling creature from damaging the body even more.

Thaddeus gave him a puzzled look, his black eyes blinking at him. "...Why?"

"Just let this thing down here." Tate smiled and patted his head. "I am more excited what comes in the morning, when she finally awakes."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hello, hello! First things first, I am new to the AHS fandom. It is not even a month since I began watching the first season, but I certainly fell in love with the various concepts of each season and the well-thought characters. All of them have meaningful backgrounds and personalities, which motivated me to write a story of my own!

This would be my very first AHS story which focuses on the Murder House. Feel free to speak out your thoughts and opinions on your first impression, and if you have ideas on how to improve it, I would be very grateful for that!

Thank you for taking time to read, and have a very wonderful Halloween! I actually planned to get started with the story to make it in time for this. Watch out for Jock, Skateboard Boy and Jack Sparrow-wannabe. If you come across a familiar old house, make sure to go straight into the basement. Who knows? Tate might just be lurking in the darkness. ;)


	2. Morning Madness

**Chapter 02**

 _ **Morning Madness**_

* * *

In the morning, Sienna woke up with a throbbing head. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and then reopened her eyes. The basement looked the same last night, but she could not remember how she got there. Did Lawrence take her downstairs to scare her? What was that pungent smell, beer? She shrugged and moved to sit up, and only then did she realize that her borrowed nurse uniform was ripped open. She immediately tried to cover her exposed chest, and attempted to remember what happened.

She was reading her book, _Markheim_. She was in the exciting part wherein Markheim has found the Devil and talks to him. It was a fantastic part, that one, and she wished she had her book with her now.

Her head ached again and she saw someone leaning over her, grinning like a madman, pounding into her. Gasping, she looked around and looked at the mess those bastards did to her last night. Her uniform destroyed, her wrists and legs red with scratches, and her neck felt narrow. She began to cry after remembering the horrid incident, curling up into a ball and weeping on the floor.

Suddenly, there were scuffling noises further into the basement. Her head shot up, her eyes looking around frantically for danger.

A red ball rolled towards her, coming from the darkness. It stopped at her ankle, as though inviting it to play with her. She heard a growl and a hiss, and that was enough to make her scramble back onto her unsteady feet and bolt out of the basement.

 _Where on earth am I?_

She expected an abandoned building, not this marvellous gothic house with Tiffany lamps and colourful stained glasses. The wooden staircase that led to the second floor was breathtaking, and so were the hallways and the wallpapers. But she was not there to ogle at the house. She turned her heels and opened the large door, dashed towards the front lawn.

"Wait!" An old, trembling voice called out to her.

Sienna spun around and watched an elderly maid hurry towards her. "Oh, madam, I am so sorry! I did not mean to trespass into your house. I—I was in your basement but—"

"Come inside, dear," the maid offered, smiling a little. When she tilted her head, her ghostly right eye came into view.

"No, no, I have to get to the police." Sienna was ashamed to admit why she was in the property in the first place, and why she had to call the police. She was about to turn away when the maid gently grabbed her shoulders.

"We have much to discuss inside. My name is Moira." Moira took her hand and led her back into the large house. She led them back to the kitchen, and the young woman sat in complete discomfort as she watched the maid rummage through the cupboards to prepare tea.

Sienna bit her lower lip and forced an ungainly smile when Moira offered a steaming cup. "Thank you," she murmured politely. She took a sip and continued, "I am Sienna. I, uh... I live not far from here..."

"You are a high school student?" Moira mused, sitting across her.

"Yes, almost graduating."

"When I was in your age, I used to dream of graduating and becoming a teacher. However, money was a problem and my mother was often sick. I gave up school and became a maid instead."

"Being a maid is not something to be embarrassed about," Sienna tried to comfort her. She smiled; for a moment, she had forgotten why her clothes were skewered or why her whole body was aching. "I want to study Creative Writing in college. I really want to become a writer someday."

Moira gave her a heart-warming smile. "That sounds very great, Sienna."

"Thank you. And thank you very much for the cup of tea." Sienna touched the maid's wrinkled hand as thanks and went back for the doorway.

"Oh, wait, please wait!" Moira called her back again, sounding very desperate.

Sienna tried to be polite and turned around. "What's the matter?"

"You cannot leave the house. Not any longer."

"Why not?"

"Something happened to you last night," Moria answered, looking uneasy. "Something that would not enable you to leave the property for quite a long time." She did not know how else to explain it, especially when she was not usually the one doing the explanation. Moreover, she did not want to break the young woman's heart about the truth, no matter how the truth hurt or mattered.

"I think you are tired, Moira," Sienna said, anxious to leave already and run to the nearest police station. After that, she would call Lawrence, tell him what happened, and make him show her those three bastards that dehumanized her last night. Those three would surely rot in prison, as long as she got to the police.

"I am telling the truth," the maid insisted.

She could not take it any longer, all the failed attempt to make her stay. "What truth?"

"That you're dead." Someone else spoke up from behind her.

Sienna turned around and saw the same teenage boy with unkempt blond hair and dark eyes. He looked very grunge-like, especially with his green and black flannel shirt, holey jeans and brown Converse shoes. He was standing at the foot of the staircase, giving her a curious look and a small, forced smile. Then, she remembered the same boy on the basement stairs, leaning against the railing, laughing at something she said.

"You!" She hissed at him.

"Me?"

She grabbed his collar and shook him. "You were there! You were watching when they... when..."

Moira immediately came in between them when Sienna began to sob. She held the young woman gently and glared up at him. "Tate, what have you done?"

Tate, who had been peering curiously at them, looked bewildered. "Nothing! I've done nothing!"

"Exactly!" Sienna released herself from the maid's grip and pounded on Tate's chest, her tears falling onto his flannel shirt. She kept her fists coming to his chest, shaking him, punching him. "You did exactly _nothing_ , that's why those bastards pounded on me like some vicious animals!"

He cringed upon hearing that, and he tried to stop her fists. "I don't know what you're talking about! All I know is that you're dead and you can't leave this house!"

"It was your fault! You could have sent for the police, called someone from the streets—anything! Anything just to keep them from dehumanizing me!" She snatched her fists from his hands, and delivered a strong slap across his left cheek.

It was as if the slap echoed throughout the whole house.

He had never experienced being slapped by someone, let alone a stranger. His fingers slowly brushed his cheek, feeling the stinging sensation there. Then, his dark eyes glanced at the weeping girl in front of him, whose cheeks were red from her anger and crying. When he had finally realized that he was actually slapped—him, Tate Langdon, of all people!—he mustered his most innocent look and turned to her.

Before he had the chance to defend himself, the brunette girl whirled around and bolted for the door.

Moira chased after her. "You cannot leave the property!"

"Watch me!" Sienna shouted back.

A pair of twin boys blocked her escape then. Both shared the same auburn hair and lanky build, freckles on the cheeks and pale complexion. One moment they looked normal and lively; the next they were ghastly, with black eyes and numerous wounds around their necks and on their cheeks. Troy and Bryan held up their bats and approached her.

"Why don't you play with us instead?"

Horrified, Sienna backed away until her she hit someone. It was Tate, looking all concerned. She brushed him off and plodded to the back of the house, looking for some secret exit.

"Where are you going?" A beautiful young woman asked her. Her dark hair was long and curly over her shoulders, and she wore a tailored suit that seemed to belong in the wrong decade. When she smiled, her lips widened into a red Chelsea smile, blood dripping from her mouth to the ground.

"Don't you want to play with us?" Troy and Bryan reappeared at her side. "We'd close our eyes and count to ten if that's what you want."

Sienna collapsed on the ground, burying her face in her hands as she continued to weep. She did not care anymore if her ripped nurse uniform was open from chest to waist, if it revealed her gray brassiere and tops of her chest. She felt them closing in on her, their blood exuding from their open wounds, their wrinkled hands touching her skin like those bastards touched her last night. If only the ground opened up in front of her, she would let herself fall into that abyss and never return to this shameful world.

"Alright, that's enough, guys." Tate stood in front of her, his hands showing surrender. "You've had your entertainment. Leave her alone."

From her kneeling position, Sienna watched as the three ghosts slowly stepped backwards and eventually disappeared. It was unbelievable to see the twins and the pretty girl disappear into thin air, and how they moved without being hindered by their injuries. Sienna gently touched her throat and felt the thin line there. It hurt for some reason, and reminded her of the minutes she spent gasping for air and pleading for her life.

Tate knelt beside her, assessing her damp face. "Are you okay?"

"Don't touch me!" She snarled at him, hurriedly sitting up. Her movements caused her uniform to open a wider, revealing more of her pale skin to Tate's eyes. She saw him frozen for a moment, swallowing hard, his eyes trying hard _not_ to look, but miserably failing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Pervert!" She accused him and ran off again.

He groaned and slumped back to the ground, cursing the girl and her everlasting energy.

* * *

It rained heavily in the afternoon. The Murder House looked so barren now that Halloween had passed, and the rain did not help to lighten the mood.

Moira kept herself busy in the kitchens, baking cookies and heating water for coffee or tea. Every once in a while, she would go to the main entrance and glance outside. Sienna was curled up at the end of the front lawn, hugging her knees and blankly staring at the street up ahead. Troy and Bryan retreated to the basement to spend the dreary afternoon playing with each other, beautiful Elizabeth was in the study room, and Tate was in his room, looking out the window and down to Sienna's figure.

 _She finally came to her senses_ , he thought with some relief. He had been straining all day to keep her in the premises, chasing after her here and there, dealing with her cries and shouts of accusation at his face. He was surprised that his temper did not blow off, like it often did when Chad was being the usual prick that he was.

Bored in his room and bored with the pitter-patter of the rain, Tate went downstairs.

As though on cue, Chad Warwick was blocking his path, smiling smugly at him.

"Well, what do we have here?" Chad crooned, glanced over his shoulder and saw his boyfriend, Patrick, smiling back at him. He grinned and turned back to Tate. "We leave one night for Halloween and we've got a new girl in the house."

"No thanks to you, I bet," Patrick interrupted, scoffing at the teenager.

Tate glared at them and proceeded to leave the house. He approached Sienna and sat cross-legged not too far from her. He ignored the rain drenching him, his shirt clinging onto his body. He just stared at the girl who seemed to be around his age. The silence around them was uneasy, prompting him to pull grass blades from the ground and playing with his fingers.

Sienna sighed in defeat and looked at him. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to know how you're doing, I guess." He shrugged, refusing to meet her teary amber eyes.

"Fine, I guess." She shook her head, feeling her heart sinking even more. "Dead because of you."

His head shot up at that. "It wasn't my fault."

"But you were watching," she muttered. Her hatred for him turned into sadness. She leaned her chin on her arm and hugged her knees tighter. "You watched while they mistreated me, did nothing to help me. What kind of _sick_ person could stomach that?"

He had nothing to say. Instead, he gave her an apologetic look.

"Can't be helped now. Moira said I was strangled after the rape." She looked up at him with her tear-filled eyes. "Did you watch that, too? Strangle me to death? What did you feel?"

Mixture of emotions flooded his mind. He let those jocks torture her because he found it entertaining that Sienna tried to fight them off. He let them choke her to death because no one in the Murder House died that way before. He let them leave in the middle of the night because the terrified look on their faces was hilarious. Now, sitting beside the girl he allowed to die for his entertainment, Tate felt remorseful. He never would have guessed that she would take her death so heavily; Nora did not do that, despite searching for her long-lost baby, Elizabeth did not even understand that she died more gruesomely than anyone else in the house.

Everything was so confusing to him right now.

"I... I am sorry," Tate managed to say. "It's just... _why_ would I let them do that?"

"I don't know." Sienna bit her lower lip, holding back her tears. "Why would you?"

Despite himself, tears fell from his eyes as well. "I don't understand..."

"Me neither."

After a long while of suffocating silence, Moira arrived with a black umbrella.

"Both of you come inside now," she told them softly. "You can't spend the rest of the afternoon here. Even if you can't get sick, it might still be troublesome. Sienna, I prepared a hot bath for you upstairs. When you're finished, I also prepared a new set of clothes for you."

Tate was the first to stand up. He wiped his tears with the sleeves of his shirt, and then extended his hand for Sienna. Like before, she only brushed him off with a frown. His gaze fell on the ground, his hands deep into his pockets, as he silently followed both women back into the house. He did not see Sienna since.

Upstairs, the maid opened the bathroom door and admitted Sienna inside. She then gestured at the clothes on the sink. "Everything will be all right, dear," she assured her. "You'll get used to it."

"Thanks," Sienna murmured, before the maid could leave. "Could you... help me out of this costume?"

Smiling like a grandmother, Moira helped her to remove the nurse uniform. The bandages around the neck were tossed to the trash can, the pair of old shoes tucked into the corner. She brushed Sienna's brown hair for a moment before the young woman sank into the bathtub with a contented sigh.

"Moira, are you really... dead?"

"I am, dear." She pulled out a chair from under the sink and sat. "Everyone in this house is."

"Even Tate?" Sienna hated him so much that mentioning his name left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Yes, even Tate, Elizabeth and the twins."

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you die?"

"I was a maid here, you see, back in the 90s. I was shot through my right eye by my jealous employer, though she did have the reason to be jealous." Moira let out a wistful smile and sighed. It was not very easy for her to talk about the circumstances of her death.

"And we are not allowed to leave the house forever?"

"It's not like that. There's a force in this house that keeps us all bound here, like how two magnets are attracted to each other. We cannot deny that force, no better than anything else."

"I can't believe I am stuck here for all eternity." Sienna hugged her knees again and stared at the steaming water. It felt refreshing, and it actually felt as though she was being _cleansed_ from the disgusting incident last night.

"You'll get used to it. Everyone did." Moira stood up and reminded her of the clothes waiting on the sink. She left the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

It was not long until Sienna finally had enough of the bath. She drained the tub and towelled herself dry, while looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup from last night's party was washed away, the smell of sweat in her hair gone as well. She felt more refreshed now, and tried her best to push the horrible events in the farthest part of her mind. Moira had provided her a red woolly sweater, perfect for the clammy weather, dark blue skinny jeans and knee-high brown leather boots. It was better than wearing an old tailored suit like Elizabeth did.

After brushing her hair, she went downstairs again to thank Moira for her kindness.

"Here comes the new girl," Chad announced to his boyfriend when Sienna entered the kitchens. He leaned closer to the counter and eyed her appearance from head to toe. "Love the sweater; it goes well with your hair. Although I'd suggest to keep the sleeves from devouring your arms. I can't see your hands at all."

Sienna was aware that the sleeves were longer than her arms. She nodded to Chad and smiled her thanks.

"My name is Chad Warwick and this is my boyfriend, Patrick." Chad smiled sincerely as Patrick stepped forward to shake Sienna's hand. "So, how did you get yourself into the Murder House?"

"Right, my name is Sienna," she told them, because none seemed to ask for her name. She looked at Chad and then at Patrick; they seemed like nice persons. "I was strangled to death."

Chad chuckled a little. "Strangulation, I see. How original. Most of us here were killed by gunshots and knives..."

"Or having a fireplace poker stuck up in your ass," Patrick finished.

She could not help but smile at their frankness. Normal people would be ashamed to admit something like that, but to Patrick, it all sounded so casual.

"Did pretty boy strangle you?" Chad asked, looking intensely into her eyes.

"I'm sorry, who?"

"She's a doll, isn't she?" Chad told Patrick and turned back to her. "Tate, who else?"

Sienna opened her mouth to answer, but felt someone standing behind her. It all happened so fast; suddenly, Tate was behind her, glaring at the couple, threatening Chad to shut up unless he wanted his face bashed in. Patrick came into the defence of his lover, curling his fist and approaching Tate. Never the one to back out from a fight, Tate met Patrick's glare and tried to size him down with his piercing dark eyes.

"Back off unless you want another poker up in your ass," Tate warned.

"I'll smash your face in that no one could look at your horribly disfigured face!"

"Don't you have a gay sitcom to attend to?"

Chad rolled his eyes and stepped forward. "Enough, you sound like children. It's embarrassing for the new girl!"

Scoffing, Tate gently grabbed Sienna's elbow and pulled her out of the kitchens. He led her back to the living room, quite forgetting that they were not in good terms yet. He was surprised when Sienna snatched her elbow from him, and then glared.

"What makes you think you can touch me now?" She rasped at him.

He cringed at the harshness in her voice. "Sorry, I thought we're already friends because you are wearing my sweater..."

"What?"

"My sweater," Tate repeated, pointing at the loose red clothing she wore. "It's mine, actually."

She looked down at the thing. When she was finally feeling comfortable with her appearance, this boy with an innocent face and flushed cheeks had to come and tell her it belonged to him. She felt the need to remove the clothes then and there. Thus, she tried to do that.

"W-Wait. What are you doing?"

"What does it look like, murder boy?" She lifted the hem of the sweater and tugged it over her head, revealing the new black brassiere Moira had provided her. She struggled to get the thick fabric off her head, but it was stuck here somewhere, possibly because of her thick brown hair and gangly arms. Groaning, she tried to wriggle out of the clothing, her chest heaving as she panted, oblivious that her figure being exposed to Tate again was making him unable to react properly again.

"You can't do that here," he blurted out.

"Do you want your sweater back or not?"

"No, you can h-have it... j-just for tonight..."

"I am _not_ spending another minute wearing the clothes of someone who did nothing to save me from last night!" Her fingers grasped at whatever part of the fabric she could clutch and tried to pull. It did not come off again. She was getting tired with all the panting and shouting at his strange boy.

Tate groaned and went to her, attempting to help. His hands went to the sides, gently pulling the sweater. He had to bend over to get a better view; when he did, it also gave him a better view of her exposed chest. Though he had seen a woman's chest countless times before, he could not help but feel modest around this girl. She seemed nice, even though she did nothing but shout and accuse him all day long, but he saw how Moira had grown fond of her, like a grandmother would to her granddaughter.

"Is it coming off yet?" Sienna panted and stretched her arms.

"Almost there," Tate assured and gave one last pull at the fabric.

Then, just as the sweater finally slipped from her head, there was a startled gasp from the doorway. Chad and Patrick were gaping at them, though Chad was more like smirking than actually astounded. He flashed a mischievous smile to both teens.

"Goodness me, you two," Chad admonished them, smirking. "Didn't your parents ever tell you to make love in a secluded place? You know there are children here, Tate. You can't possibly do it in the living room. Go upstairs and lock the door." He winked and added, "Oh, and try to be quiet when you do it."

Sienna and Tate spared uneasy glances at each other, until Sienna realized what Chad _actually_ meant and covered her chest with the red sweater.

"I-It's not what you think!"

"Honey, that's what they _always_ say."

"If I would do it, it wouldn't be with him!" She pointed her index finger at Tate, and tried desperately to cover her reddening cheeks.

"Don't worry," Patrick chimed in, grinning. "We won't tell anybody."

"Yeah. Your secret is safe with us."

"You! Say something!" She pleaded the boy standing beside her.

Tate held up his hands and smiled an innocent yet mischievous smile. "Why me? It was you who asked for help. You really wanted to give back my sweater so..."

"All of you are unbelievable!" Sienna groaned and stomped away, still clutching the clothing tightly.

"Well?" Chad crooned at the blond boy. "Aren't you going after your little lady?"

"She's not my lady," Tate argued but ran after her anyway. The couple finally gave him an idea how to torment the female newcomer into the house, and he found it entertaining and somewhat humbling that Sienna was actually blushing throughout the whole ordeal.

Days in the Murder House promised not to be dull any longer.


	3. A Fortnight Later

**Chapter 03**

 _ **A Fortnight Later**_

* * *

For the first two weeks in the Murder House, Sienna remained quiet. She claimed the semi-circular library on the second floor as her own, just as Moira had the kitchens, Tate had his bedroom, and all the other unnamed ghosts crammed in the basement. She sat at the window sill day in and night out, looking across the street, watching other people pass the old gothic house without ideas what actually happened there. Her noiseless mourning for her death worried Moira; according to the old maid, Sienna did not rave or cry any longer, she did not shout and accuse Tate whenever they passed each other downstairs. She sat in utter silence, her brown hair billowing with the wind, her hands folded in her lap.

Two long weeks of being dead now, and no one seemed to notice her disappearance at all. It took all her willpower to stop herself from bolting out to the front lawn and shout for help.

Instead, she kept herself within the small library, hunched over beside the window and reading whatever she could get her hands on. Murder House did not have that much collection of books, mostly were old magazines and newspapers left by the previous owners. The smell of old books somehow calmed her amidst this brewing storm of emotions and horror. When she did not read, she would get paper and pen and write down her thoughts, anything that would keep herself from thinking about her being dead.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

She drew away from the glass window and noticed Tate standing near the entrance. He was wearing a striped black shirt, complementing his eyes. He smiled, perhaps even a little forced, as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

Normally, Sienna would have ignored him, but the house was getting boring. She rested her chin at the heel of her palm, and peered at him lazily.

"Not much to think about," she said. "No school, homework, allowance. Nothing. Because I am dead, and no thanks to you."

Tate breathed sharply, but kept his composure. His eyes were still on hers. "Do you always have to rub it in my face?"

"Why not?" She shrugged and looked at the yellowish newspaper tucked at her feet. His piercing gaze on hers was unnerving. "It was your fault after all," she murmured.

"Is there anything I could do to make it up to you? To make you stop hating me?" He asked hopefully, his face beaming up a little.

"Tate rhymes with hate."

His childlike enthusiasm quickly vanished, as his eyes flashed sadness and focused back on the carpeted floor. He did not spend that much time in the library; it was small and only had two bookshelves that flanked the glass window, two lamps on each side of the room, a small round table in the middle, and a chaise lounge that Sienna had dragged beside the window so that she could sit there and look at the people below.

"Come down to the living room with me," he offered, gesturing his right hand towards the wooden staircase. "Everyone's watching TV. Maybe news about you will come up."

She looked interested enough, and he could swear to himself that he saw her smile. For some reason, it made him smile. As with Nora Montgomery, the woman who wanted her baby so badly, Tate wished to please the other ghosts in the house. Sometimes, he played with Thaddeus in the basement and went with Troy and Bryan while exploring the house. It was somehow comforting for him to know he was helping the other inhabitants.

He followed Sienna outside the library, keeping a good distance away from her at least. He followed until they reached the living room, where Moira was sitting on the couch, looking intently on the small television.

"Oh, I am glad you look so well, dear," Moira said and patted a seat. The young woman nodded and sat beside her. "I was worried your mind is afflicted."

"Not at all." Sienna tried to smile. "Maybe I am just getting used to being here, because I am _dead_." She shot a sideways glance at Tate, who met her eyes and shrank backwards in obvious guilt.

"Men can always find a way to make you do what they want, can they?"

"Sure do. I used to have a best friend who let me into this mess." She really did not have any grudge against Lawrence. He was a sweet friend, only that he cared about what other people thought of him. He often changed himself to fit whatever the trend was, as opposed to his down-to-earth and bookish friend. Sienna missed him badly.

Moira shook her head. "Yes, dear, men are arrogant and controlling. As pretty as you are now, none of them would desire you when you are as old and weak as I am now."

"You think so?"

"I _know_ so." She could start a narrative about how men see her as the 25-year-old woman with rich auburn hair and set of deep blue eyes, with unblemished skin and smooth legs, and a jaw-dropping smile; and how women see her, an old lady with a wrinkled face and ghostly right eye, scrawny arms and weak back.

Sienna hesitated for a while. "Not all men are—"

"Why don't you ask Tate?" Moira interrupted, though her voice was still gentle. She looked behind her and beckoned for the teenage boy to come closer to the couch. When he was close enough, the maid turned back to the young woman and said, "Why don't you ask him what he thought of you, while he watched you suffer in the basement?"

At once, Tate looked horrified.

"Why would you say that?" He looked pleadingly at Moira, tears threatening to fall. "I wasn't... I didn't... I don't know anymore!"

"You see, dear? Men are not to be trusted."

Chad Warwick then appeared, meandering towards the living room. He wore an open-collared black shirt and pants, with his hair smoothed neatly to the side. He smirked at Tate and dropped himself on the couch next to Sienna. He let out a dramatic sigh. "Phew, all these talks about hating men! What are we now, an anti-men group?"

"Hello, Chad," Moira greeted pleasantly.

"Seems you made it into the news, honey." Chad snatched the remote and turned the volume louder.

"Be careful," Tate snapped. "People outside might hear."

"I didn't expect a TV could still be here," Sienna murmured.

"Last people in the house forgot some of their belongings," Chad told her, taking a sip from the martini he made in the kitchen. "I think it was a family with five children? Parents were often busy at night, aiming for a sixth." He grinned. "Ask pretty boy; he always watched them doing it."

Tate's face flashed red with anger. He snatched the martini glass and threw it across the room, just behind the television set. "I did not so you better stop making up stories about me!"

Chad snickered and whispered to Sienna, "He is very ashamed to admit it."

"Do you want to get a free punch?" Tate cracked his knuckles, as he slowly rounded on the couch and approached the grinning flamboyant man.

"Ssshh!" Sienna put a finger to her lips, as her eyes were glued to the television. Tate fell silent and watched the news.

It showed a female reporter with short, blonde hair. She was blathering something about Halloween, the casualties that happened—drunken people making mess in the streets, children crying over lost candies, teenagers getting scolded by local police officers. It took her a while to report everything. When the camera spanned around, it showed a young man with dark hair in a slicked back fashion and wearing a simple white shirt. It was obvious that he had been crying and going on without sleep, his jaw trembling with each word he said.

Sienna's breath hitched in her throat, unable to take her eyes off of Lawrence's dismantled appearance. He had been looking for her all this time; two weeks since her disappearance, she finally knew something about the outside world.

According to Lawrence's report, he and his missing friend, Sienna Hale, were attending a classmate's Halloween party. He claimed that it was around nine in the evening when they got separated with the commotion, and had thought that Sienna went home by herself. Lawrence immediately left the party afterwards and went straight to her apartment, but received no answers. Thinking that his friend was already asleep, he left the house and returned to the party. Now, the officers were working with him on searching for the missing girl.

The screen flashed an image of the said missing person, hoping that someone might have seen her. In the picture, the girl was smiling at the camera, while embracing a large hardbound book with the title _Sherlock Holmes_.

Just as one of the officers promised to find her, Tate grabbed the remote and shut the television off.

"It's a load of crap!" He shouted defensively.

"I don't know, murder boy..." Chad clicked his tongue. "You actually look cute in that photo. How old are you, honey?"

"Fifteen, when the photo was taken." Sienna dabbed her sleeves to her eyes, wiping away the tears. "I am seventeen now. Seventeen and dead."

"No!" Tate rounded towards her, flushed with anger and uncertainty. "It wasn't my fault!"

"Because you already know the conversation leads there?" Chad laughed out loud, and then stood up. "You're pathetic. It should have only been you who's dead—not me, not Patrick, not her."

Moira stood from the couch and held up her hands. "Enough," she said. "Let us not fight any longer. Chad, stop teasing him."

Chad faked a resented look. "Boo-hoo, now I'm the bad guy."

"Get lost, queen bee." Tate glared until the flamboyant man grinned and was out of sight.

When the chaos in the living room finally ended, he let out a deep sigh of relief. It was hard to deal with Chad being sarcastic all the time, and often Patrick joined in, trying to blow his temper off. But Tate knew better; they were only pushing the buttons until he lost his patience and would do something horrible. But he wasn't like that, was he? He didn't hurt those people, didn't let those three boys rape someone, and didn't—

He looked back at the couch and was surprised that Sienna was gone.

"Oh, no!" Moira was shouting from the front porch. "Please, come back here! Don't do _that_!"

Tate dashed off at once. He gasped as Sienna frantically waved her hands, struggled to earn the attention of the numerous passersby. Gritting his teeth, he crossed the lawn and grabbed her around the waist, half-dragging her back into the Murder House. Sienna, as she always did, fought him off and shouted for help, waved her arms, and tried to kick him away. Tate was stronger though, but it took him a minute to finally bring the screaming girl back inside and slam the door in her face.

"What do you think you're doing!?"

"Calling for help. What does it look like to you?" She groaned and snatched her wrist from his grip. Her hair was out of its usual bun, prompting her thick locks to gather around her face. She tucked them behind her ears as she continued glaring.

"You won't get any kind of help! Not any longer!"

"Not if I can help it!" She tried to pass through him, but her face hit Tate's chest and she stumbled backwards.

"I won't let you draw any more attention to you, or this house. It's dangerous," he warned her, a small growl rumbling at the back of his throat.

"Dangerous? When everyone here is dead?"

Tate sighed in defeat and peered out of the windows. His dark eyes narrowed when two boys around their age were standing in front of the house, whispering to each other. Looking closer now, and more cautious, it seemed that the two strangers _did_ notice Sienna and wondered who she was. His panic rose when one of the boys pulled out a black phone and started dialling. Tate held his breath, Sienna was silent beside him, and he imagined the phone ringing and a police officer answering on the other line.

When the call was finished, the two strangers spared one last glance at the house, and then walked off.

"We are so damned."

"Speak for yourself," she shot back.

"If those two call the cops, I am blaming you. Then, maybe I'll get rid of them in the basement, too. We don't want those cops and their dogs sniffing around, right?" He walked past her and headed to the kitchens.

Sienna's amber eyes followed his trail. "Bad for you, but good for me," she called out to him. "When they find my corpse there, they'll know what happened."

Tate stopped walking, contemplating what to do, but then said nothing to her.

* * *

In another life, when Tate could not think clearly, he would have gone straight to the beach. It soothed his nerves by just looking at the wide expanse of dark blue waters, the warm sand underneath him, and the cries of gulls up above. He liked the wind, the stillness of everything except the waves, but those soothed him, too. When the cops had taken his life around twenty years ago, it was when he stopped going to the beach.

Sitting in the warm evening air was not as good as the beach, but he had no other choice. He was bored in the Murder House like all the others. He sat on the porch, his elbows resting on his knees, while his eyes were focused on the street.

 _What should I do, if the copes arrived?_

He would have disposed of the body, but if he did that, Sienna would get mad again. She would, right? She was always mad at him anyway. _Tate rhymes with hate_. It hurt him. No one really hurt him before; Moira was always gentle, Nora Montgomery was like a mother to him, and even Elizabeth was nice. If he scared the cops off, would that anger Sienna more?

 _What should I do, so she won't hate me anymore?_

Talking to her was not a good option. He had tried many times to speak with her, just wanting to be friendly, but she always rubbed it in his face that it was his fault she was dead. Was it really his fault? He couldn't remember at all. What did he do? It irked him not to know. If he wanted to be in good terms with her, he needed to gain her trust.

 _Books. Yes, Sienna likes books._

He remembered the small, red book in the basement. It was right beside her corpse when he and Thaddeus had disposed of it.

Dusting off his jeans, Tate went off to the basement with a smile on his face.

* * *

For some reason, the cops were not arriving. It made her heart sink with each passing second; there were no blinking red-and-blue lights at all. Sienna sighed for the umpteenth time and leaned back against the chaise lounge, feeling her energy depleting. She had finished the newspaper from 1977 and it had nothing interesting in it. She let her hair out of its bun, freely cascading down to the middle of her back in curls and tangles. Her back ached, her hands ached, and everything ached. In this house, nothing felt so right.

A quiet knock on the door jolted her back to her senses.

Her eyes shot up. She saw Tate where he always stood, beside the doorframe and across the room. He had a timid look on his face. When he looked at her, he smiled a little, his dimples showing.

"What do you want now?"

"I, um..." He glanced up to meet her eyes, looked down on the carpet, and then looked at her again—a very boyish and charming gesture. He swallowed the lump in his throat, scratched the back of his head, and held up a small book. "I went downstairs and got you this..."

She peered curiously at the book in his hand, which was wrapped with a red ribbon. She did not move from the chaise longue, drawing Tate forward to give it to her. While her eyes were fixated on the book, he was observing her face and waiting for a reaction. Before Sienna could take it from his hand, he knelt in front of her and offered the small peace offering.

"I know you still hate me after what happened but... but I just want to make you feel better."

"Thank you," she whispered, a small smile curling on her lips. She peeked at his face and then went back to removing the ribbon around her small book. She opened it, savouring the feeling of the pages brushing her fingers. Her yellow bookmark was still in place, on the page where Markheim was confessing his deeds to the Devil.

Tate nodded and smiled, pleased to know he was not upsetting her again. "You're welcome..."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Okay, I would keep this brief. I would like to thank AnaLeman for expressing interest in translating this story and posting it into a Russian language site. It is a great honour for me, so thank you very much! Also, I would like to thank the three guests who have left reviews. Your reviews motivated me to update.

Thank you all for reading! Until next time! :)

Cover image not mine.


	4. False Sunrise

**Chapter 04**

 _ **False Sunrise**_

* * *

It was not even five in the morning when she woke up from the sound of sirens wailing in the streets. It made her groan in her sleep, if ghosts were even capable of sleeping, but it made her feel more human. She closed her eyes and shifted on the chaise lounge, her small book tucked underneath her arm. Her mind wondered about a blanket; she could not remember falling asleep with a blanket around her. Maybe Moira entered the library and gave her the blanket while she slept.

The sirens were closer now, and seemingly stopped in front of the house.

Sienna looked up and yawned. Someone was leaning against the window frame, peering through the thin green curtains. She rubbed her eyes and whispered, "Tate?"

Tate retreated from the window and smiled at her. "Morning," he replied in a quiet voice.

"What's happening?" She sat up, letting the blanket pool at her feet.

"Cops are here," he whispered back, returning on spying through the window. He gritted his teeth when two police officers in blue uniforms and black pants emerged from the sedan, the red-and-blue siren still wailing into the darkness. He saw the house beside them become alive with lights, and an old woman with light blonde hair and wearing a nightgown approach the officers.

The woman talked to the cops, her arms wrapped around her body to provide warmth in the cold morning. She was smiling at them, but then cocked her head to the side as she glanced at the Murder House. For a moment there, her eyes landed on Tate's, still peering through the glass window on the second floor. When she turned back to the cops, she shook her head and said something.

Sienna was then on her feet. "They are here for me," she declared.

Tate rounded towards her, frowning. "No, they are not. You be quiet or you'll get us all in trouble. Let Constance handle this."

She did not care about Constance, whoever she was. She did not care about his feelings, his fear of being discovered, and definitely did not care about the old house that had killed all of its inhabitants. She was determined to have herself discovered in here, her corpse most probably rotting in the basement, feeding insects and rodents. Even if she needed to spend all eternity in this miserable place, someone needed to know she died there and have her body buried properly.

"I'm going out."

"You are not leaving!" He grabbed her around the waist and dragged her back to the chaise lounge. He forced her to sit there, as he knelt on the floor and kept both of his hands on either side of her face. He looked intently in her amber eyes, fiery with resolve.

"Don't touch me!" She tried to pry his hands off, but he did not budge. "Stop touching me!"

"And stop shouting!" He argued, keeping his voice still low.

"If you won't stop touching me, I'll scream."

"Oh yeah?" He challenged, smirking a little.

"You know I can do it." Sienna glared. Then, she began screaming at the top of her lungs. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Tate tackled her to the chaise longue, covering her mouth with his hand. He immediately glanced up the window and saw the police officers looking tensed. One of the cops pulled out a flashlight and directed the beam of light towards the second floor, just beside the window. Tate ducked, pressing himself close to the couch and beside Sienna's face. He saw her struggle from his grip, her arms trying to push him off her. When he saw the light was gone, he sighed in relief and got off.

"Do you really want to get in trouble?"

Sienna embraced her knees, as she gave him a sour look. "Will you stop finding ways to make me even angrier with you?"

"I am not trying to provoke you," he said in his defence, settling himself at the other end of the couch. "I was just being considerate. You can't keep drawing attention to yourself. I told you before that it is dangerous; not only for you, but to everyone else!"

"How so!?"

A quiet tapping of feet came from the doorway. Both teenagers turned their heads as a middle-aged woman with charred skin and frizzled hair appeared. She was smiling at them, red embers blinking near her forehead and eyes. Her dress was black and burned; her left eye white and empty. At the sight of the burned woman, Sienna covered her face and screamed.

"Stop it!" Tate rasped and looked out the window. The cops were preparing to leave. He slid closer to Sienna and patted her back in reassurance. Then, he gave the newcomer a small glare. "Stop it, Lorraine, you're scaring her!"

Lorraine tilted her head and said, "Oh, forgive me, child. I only wanted to tell you to keep it down. The girls are sleeping in the basement."

"Well, not to worry," he promised her. "We won't make noises anymore."

"Thank you, child." Lorraine smiled, as her black face began to blink with red embers, and then disappeared.

 _Why do I have to clean up with everything? It's supposed to be Moira's job_. Tate sighed and looked down at Sienna's hunched figure. She was still shaking in fear, her face buried in her hands. He tried to console her by tentatively patting her back and then rubbing up and down, unsure whether it was actually soothing her or making her angrier. She told him before not to touch him, but she needed to be comforted. It was an exception this time, right?

"W-Who... was that?"

"Lorraine Harvey," he answered with a small smile. "Lived here back in the early 90s. She was a kind person, mother of two little girls, set the three of them on fire." He chuckled when her expression became more horrified.

"Fire? Well that escalated quickly. Why did she burn herself and her children if she was _kind?_ "

He shrugged. "I don't remember."

She wiped her tears and glimpsed over her shoulder. "Are the cops gone?"

"Gone with the Wind." He grinned. "Have you watched that film?"

"Sure have. I think I wrote a research paper about it before."

Then, both of them heard the main door creaking open. Tate was suddenly alert, jumping onto his feet and frowning. Sparing a last glance at Sienna, he went to the staircase. Behind him, the brown-haired girl followed, still wiping her tears from the previous fearful encounter with the burned woman. She walked beside Tate as they entered the kitchens, finding Moira and an unfamiliar woman.

"Oh, Tate, honey." The blonde woman with pearl earrings and blue nightgown crooned at him so sweetly. She crossed the kitchens in three swift steps, touched the boy's cheeks with adoration.

Scowling, Tate withdrew away from her. "What do you want? What are you doing here?"

Constance seemed offended with his cold voice, but she smiled instead. "I just wanted to see how my beloved boy is doing."

"I'm doing all right, thank you very much. You can leave now."

"Who's this?" Constance gestured to Sienna with a questioning look. Her eyes observed the girl's appearance from head to toe, took notice of her dishevelled hair and flushed cheeks, and the tee shirt and gray jogging pants that she wore. "Is this the new girl I've been hearing about?"

"Yes, this is Sienna," Moira introduced her. "She has been with us for a few weeks now."

"My name is Constance Langdon. I live next door." She amiably said and shook the young woman's hand. "How did you get yourself tangled here?"

Tate stepped forward, shielding Sienna from his mother's piercing gaze. "What do you want?"

"The cops were here just now," Constance told him. "They were asking about the girl found here yesterday, screaming for help. Two concerned teens called the police and asked them to investigate. Luckily, I was able to keep them at bay, though they did promise to come back to investigate the property. What have _you_ done, Tate?"

"Nothing! It wasn't my fault that she's here!"

"She is just a poor girl victimized by the pleasures of men," Moira said.

"And are you trying to get yourself discovered?" Constance asked Sienna. "Do you know what happens if people find out about the secrets of the house?"

"No."

"Then you are in no position to make complaints. Under the roof of the Murder House, you follow its rules." The blonde woman turned her heels and walked away from them.

" _What_ rules?" Sienna asked exasperatedly.

Constance winked. "Stay dead for all times."

Upset, the 17-year-old girl dashed out of the kitchens and trudged back to her hiding place, her beloved library. It seemed everyone in this house, even the freaking neighbours, could think of a way to upset her. What was so wrong in having your corpse discovered, or in hoping for a nice funeral with family and friends to attend? What was so wrong in wishing that the three boys who raped and strangled her be discovered and jailed for life? Why can't _anybody_ understand that?

Just as she was entering the semi-circular library, she halted and noticed someone on the chaise lounge, peering at the glass window. She backed away slowly, thinking it was another ghost with some horrible wound or burn, until she hit something hard behind her.

"Tate," Sienna gasped, her voice sounding relieved to see a familiar face.

The figure on the long chair moved and cried, "Tate!"

"Addie!" The teenaged boy smiled happily and went forward to embrace her. He knelt on the floor, wrapped his strong arms around the stunted body of a raven-haired girl. In turn, the girl pressed her cheek against Tate's shoulder and sighed.

"I really missed you, Tate," Addie whispered against his shoulder, while her fingers raked through his unkempt blond hair.

Tate released her from the tight embrace, and then kissed her forehead. "I missed you, too. Very much, actually." He took Addie's hand in his and beckoned her to come with him. "This is Sienna, she's new here."

Sienna nodded a little. "Nice to meet you," she murmured.

"Nice to meet you!" Addie chirped and whispered to Tate. "The twins are right; she does look like a pretty girl."

He only smiled.

"Troy and Bryan thinks you're a pretty girl, Sienna. Can you make me look like a pretty girl, too? I brought make-up from Mom's vanity, please don't tell her."

"Um, Addie—" Tate interrupted her from sprawling a handful of cosmetic products. "I think it is a little early for that. It's still five in the morning and Sienna seems to be a little sleepy. Why don't you come back in the afternoon? She'll make you a pretty girl by then."

Addie thought for a while, and then nodded. "You're right! It is a little early. I'll come back later, okay?" She began to grab the cosmetics and shove them back inside the white purse. Then, she kissed him on the cheek. "See you later, Tate. Bye, Sienna!"

"See you, Addie." Sienna waved a hand and watched her leave. She turned back to Tate. "Let me guess... another ghost?"

Tate laughed. "No. Actually, she is alive."

"Can't see any difference." She shrugged. "How do you know her?"

"I think I can recognise my own sister well enough."

"She's... your sister? And Constance..."

"Is my mother. Fate sucks, right?" He slumped back on the floor and leaned his head against the edge of the chaise lounge. "Why do I always get the terrible ones? My Dad ran away when I was six, Mom neglected us for years and then took several boyfriends, just to tend to her deflated vanity."

"Is that why you seem like a rebel to her now?" Sienna took the seat next to him. Her hatred for him was gone for now, as he sat there looking up at the ceiling with sad dark eyes.

"Constance can't do anything to me," he said. "I am her perfect son, after all. But I don't think so, I never think so. Judging on how you carry yourself, your mother must have raised you well."

"I'll spare you the sob story of my childhood."

Tate beamed at her. "Tell me."

She shrugged dismissively. "My mother worked abroad my whole life, so I only have my father to take care of me. This is not a tear-jerking story like what you think, but it does get lonely when you miss your mother all the damn time. My dad works as a manager in a small convenience store. I go to school in the morning, he leaves home to work; I get home late and study, he stays in the living room to watch TV. It's always the same thing, but it gets really lonely at home."

"I understand. It gets lonely here, too."

"Is that why you let those boys murder me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." She sighed wistfully. "I went out of town to study at Westfield High, and then go to a nearby college to study Creative Writing. I wanted to become an author, but I guess even that is out of my league now."

"Because of me?" He asked anxiously.

"Because of you, indeed."

"It wasn't my fault," he said, like he told Constance earlier. "Why would I let them do that to you? Why would I do that? Why?"

She wiped away her tears. "I'm tired. I want to go back to sleep; those cops woke me up." She laid herself back on the chaise lounge and yawned.

Tate helped her get into the couch and tucked the blanket under her chin. His fingers lightly brushed the brown hair off her face, and he was surprised she did not get upset that he _touched_ her again. "Good night, I guess? Or is it morning?"

"Hm, I don't know either. Good morning doesn't sound so good when you're going back to sleep."

"Oh, I know. _Sleep tight_."

"Sounds better."

* * *

Adelaide Langdon returned in the afternoon, like she promised. The weather was cool, and it felt like the very air was wet, so she decided to wear a cream-colored trench coat and black leggings. She brought her mother's white purse, containing all the cosmetics that Constance used every day. She did not need to knock on the door, because Moira didn't mind Addie coming in without permission. Excited like a little girl, she immediately went upstairs and proceeded to the library.

Someone else was in there.

"Wait, where's Sienna?"

"Oh, who are you looking for, sweet child?" Nora Montgomery gave Addie a sweet smile. She shifted on the couch, her hands neatly folded on her lap. Her light blonde hair was kept in a bun, though some of her curly locks hung from her forehead and behind her ears. She looked like an early 1920s flapper, wearing a luxurious maroon skirt and black leather heels.

"Have you seen Sienna? She's the new pretty girl," Addie said, not perturbed at the socialite ghost.

Nora did not seem to hear. "I am looking for my baby. Have you seen my baby?"

"No," Addie answered sternly and turned away. She scampered downstairs and looked for Moira. "Have you seen Sienna? She promised to make me a pretty girl."

"I haven't seen her since this early morning," Moira told her. "Have you gone to the library?"

"She wasn't there, just Nora. Where's Tate?"

Moira shook her head. "Have you gone to the basement?"

"Aww, I don't want to go there all alone! It's dark and cold in there." Addie embraced herself and put the white purse on top of the counter. "Can I have a glass of juice?"

"Of course, dear." Moira opened the fridge, which had been plugged into the socket ever since the last family moved out, and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice. She poured a glass and gave it to Addie. "Does your mother know you're here?"

Addie grinned. "Nope, Travis is at home so she's very busy."

"Maybe you should ask her permission before leaving the house. You know your mother becomes very worried about you sometimes..."

"She doesn't mind, as long as I go here."

Suddenly, a series of quick steps on the hallways resonated. There was a scream, a shout, and another banging on the door and walls. Moira and Addie looked up cautiously. From the other side of the corridor, both women saw Sienna darting from the stairs, her face flushed with fear, as Tate appeared behind her.

"Stop running around!" Tate called out, pausing for a moment to catch his breath.

Moira approached him. "What happened?"

"I tried to introduce her to Beau. She got scared and dashed off." He panted again and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "I cannot, for the life of me, understand how she could have so much energy screaming and running around."

"She's young," Moira pointed out. "Young people like you and her always have the energy to do things."

"She _needs_ to stop screaming her head off, or the cops will come back." He grunted and then followed Sienna to the kitchens. He abruptly stopped himself from engaging her into another long lecture about how all the ghosts in the house needed to be quiet, as he saw Sienna sitting beside Addie on the counter, drinking orange juice.

"Tate!" Addie chirped at him. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you and Sienna!"

 _Oh, that's right_. He almost forgot that he invited his sister to come back. He rounded the counter and stood across them, his dark eyes not leaving Sienna's face. Of the two weeks she spent in the Murder House, one of the things that unnerved her was being stared at.

It began to rain then. While Sienna and Moira took turns on putting make-up on Addie's face, Tate stood like a shadow, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes still locked on the new girl in the house. She was vibrant and headstrong, but not in the same headstrong and sarcastic manner of Chad. He knew that she continued to hate him, despite her thanking him for the book or letting him comfort her when Lorraine Harvey scared her. _Tate rhymes with hate_ , she had told him before. Yet there was something about her that Tate could not understand.

He did not know what else to do with her, but to look at her face, while the rain continued to pour.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Okaaay, I'm back everyone! Sorry if it took long to update, but the pressures of college are getting in the way. Thanks so much for all the reviewers from the last chapter ( _Jenna, Guest, GhostlySights, Regine, Demona Evernight,_ and _Flores_ ). I am very thankful for your kind words, and am so glad that you guys like the story. For those who favourited and followed, thank you very much, too!

P.S. Is it just me or do other authors also get problems when checking the "Views" of a story? Mine either shows "N/A" or no update at all. I'm getting really worried...


	5. Dark Hour

**Chapter 05**

 _ **Dark Hour**_

* * *

Winter was fast approaching, and it brought no comfort to anyone in the Murder House at all. The place had been as quiet as it should be; still pretending that no one lived there except the ghosts. The police officers did not return, and Constance must have persuaded them that the girl missing for a month now was not in the house. The nights were cold and the morning quiet; the only things that made the old house bright was Adelaide Langdon visiting every once in a while.

Bored out of his mind, Tate switched the TV off and went to the kitchens.

"No news?"

Moira shook her head, not looking at him. "No news at all."

He grunted. The perks of being a 17-year-old ghost was that he could do whatever he wanted, keep his youthful look, and have the strength of a normal teenager around his age. The disadvantages, however, was that the Murder House was becoming more and more boring with each passing year; he had been stuck there for two decades now, and Halloween was the only time he could leave the house and enjoy himself.

"I know you're bored," Moira said as she wiped her hands on her white apron. "Why don't you go upstairs and make use of your time?"

He snatched an apple from the table and tossed it in the air. He caught it with his hands, and then took a large bite. "And go bother Sienna? I don't think so," he said through a mouthful. "She gets queasy just looking at me."

"You cannot blame her," she said. "She has been through a lot."

"Just like everyone else in this house."

"She still gets used to it. If you make her understand, maybe her perception about us would change." Moira smiled a little. "Go on upstairs."

Reluctantly, Tate took another bite on his apple and left the kitchens. He proceeded straight to the second floor, to the farthest corner of the hallway. He stopped by the entrance, like he always did before appearing to her, and then leaned against the wooden doorframe. He found Sienna leaned back against the several pillows on her chaise longue, her feet tucked underneath her white blanket, and a hardbound book in her hands.

He inhaled and then knocked.

Sienna's amber eyes lifted from the pages of her book to his handsome face. She did not glare at him like she often did; instead, she only stared for a while, and then went back in reading her book.

"What part of 'I hate you' can't you understand?" she asked nonchalantly.

He bit his lower lip and looked at his feet. "I know you hate me, but not as _much_ as you hate me during the first day," he muttered under his breath, his dark eyes returning to her.

"And your point is?"

"I am just trying to be friendly." Tate crossed the small library and went to his usual position at the foot of the chaise longue, where he sat on the floor and looked up to her while she read. He often bothered her this way, when he had nothing to do in his room or in the basement—just sitting there and watching her read, even if she did not pay attention to him.

She looked up from her book again. "You don't seem friendly," she pointed out. "You are bothering me because you are bored. Go and bother someone else, preferably Chad if you want someone exciting."

"Chad?" He made a disgusted face, which made her smile behind her book. "I don't want to get in between him and Patrick."

"Fine. What about Lorraine?" She shuddered upon remembering Lorraine's burned face and clothes.

"She never appears that much. She keeps watch on her girls all the time, and she is nowhere fun."

"Have you gone to Moira? What about the other ghosts in the house?"

Tate shook his head stubbornly. "No and no. You've been here for a month now. Don't you want to explore the house?"

"Last time you forced me into it, I almost pissed myself with fear. I am not going through that again." She wanted that to be the last exchange in this conversation. Her eyes flickered back to her book, which Moira had found disposed in the study room and had good-naturedly given her. It was entitled _The Thirteenth Tale_.

"Fair enough, but I promise you no one would scare you. I really, _really_ promise!" He held up his palm as he made his promise, like a five-year-old child would. "It won't be like the last time when I left you in the attic. Not anymore, so can't you just please come with me? If you're going to spend the rest of your time here, you could at least be considerate and meet the others. You won't regret it, I promise!"

It was rare for him to beg, Sienna could tell, because he was looking intently in her eyes and biting his lower lip. She let the silence hang between them for a while; she reading her book, he waiting for her response. Then, with a quiet sigh, she closed the book and removed the blanket off her feet. At once, Tate was on his feet as well, beaming with excitement.

"This better be worth it, murder boy."

"You won't regret it." He grinned and began leading her out of the library. "Attic or basement first?"

She gave him a hard look. "I hate the basement, you know."

"Attic it is."

Tate and Sienna meandered around until they saw a black rope hanging from the ceiling. Pushing his bangs off his eyes, Tate reached up and tugged at the rope; saw the folded stairs extending down to them. He offered his hand to Sienna, his hand partly covered by his long blue sleeves. The young woman crossed her arms and shook her head, indicating that she did not need his help to climb the stairs. Chuckling, the boy in sweater and jeans began to ascend to the attic. When Sienna could not see him any longer, she spared one cautious glance around the empty corridor, and then followed above.

Up in the attic, she fearfully placed her hands flat on the dusty flooring and heaved herself up. Her eyes darted here and there, finding no signs of Tate. She remained kneeling, fear creeping up in her veins as the darkness loomed ahead of her. She heard clinking noises, scuffling of hands and feet, little growling voices. It made her scared even more. She was about to exit the place when she felt someone grabbing her wrist.

"Tate!" She immediately stood up and pushed his shoulder. "You stupid! 'No one would scare you', you said!"

He clutched his stomach, attempting to hold back his laughter. "Okay, okay, I get it. I just went over to talk to Beau, that's all."

"Beau?"

"Yeah, come on." He led her further into the darkness. He would glance at her every now and then, making sure she was following and not running back towards the light. He sat beside a tousled bed, covered with a thick sheet of dust, and gestured for Sienna to sit beside him.

She did, albeit reluctantly, and held on to Tate's sleeve. She wanted to make sure he would not disappear like the last time, and his presence was the only thing comforting her right now. She leaned close to whisper in his ear. "What are we waiting for?"

He leaned to her as well, their foreheads brushing together. "For Beau. Nothing to worry about, I promise."

"Okay." She inhaled and waited with him.

"Watch this." He smiled at her and patted the wooden floor, a quiet series of tapping resonating within the spacious attic.

As though on cue, a clinking of chains answered him. There was a grunt in the darkness, more scuffling of hands and feet, and small incoherent grunt. A red ball came rolling towards them, and Tate caught it with his hand. He held it up for Sienna to see and then gave it to her. She looked confused and still scared, and with her face so close to his, it took all of Tate's willpower to stop himself from doing something far from what she would want.

"Come here, Beau. I want you to meet someone."

A pale creature suddenly appeared from the shadows. He moved towards them like a cautious animal, crawling on his hands and knees. A black chain was fastened around his ankles; his white shirt all tattered and stained. When he finally came into view, his face looked disfigured, with small black eyes and a wide-opened mouth and few teeth. He seemed delighted to see both of them, as he grunted and crawled faster.

Sienna's eyes widened with fear, as she backed away and hid behind Tate.

"Don't worry," Tate assured her, glancing over his shoulder and smiling. "Beau just wants to play with you. You have his ball, remember?"

She looked down at the red ball in her hand. Lifting her head up, she saw the pale creature waiting expectantly for his ball to be returned. Still cowering behind Tate, Sienna rolled the ball and Beau caught it back with his large hands. He clapped and rolled the ball back towards her. She felt more at ease now, her grip on Tate's shoulder loosening.

"See? I told you not to worry. Beau won't hurt you. It would be the last thing he would do to you."

"Enlighten me." She continued playing with Beau, keeping her eyes on Tate's. "How do you know about him?"

"How about you guess?"

"I am not taking any chances to guess."

Tate sighed in defeat. "All right. He's my brother."

"What?" Her eyes widened at him, and she did not notice that Beau had already rolled the ball back to her. "Your brother...?"

"Uh-huh. Constance has four children, but she doesn't deserve to be a mother to any of those four. She had issues, we had issues, she drank and neglected us, and we had to deal with our own problems." He scratched the back of his head, looking sadly at his horribly disfigured brother. Tears began to well in his eyes. "She doesn't deserve to be a mother; she doesn't deserve _any_ of us. All we had were each other—Addie, Beau, and me. She tried to take that away from us. Constance couldn't handle Beau, so she had her lover smother him with a pillow; up here, right in this very attic. She couldn't admit to herself that her 'perfect son' was rebelling against her, so she made it look like I was the wrong one. She mistreated Addie, called her an ugly monster. She is a horrible mother."

Sienna's heart reached out for him, and she squeezed his hand in reassurance. "Not all mothers are perfect, just like mine isn't."

"Yours?" Tate did not want to believe her. She seemed like any other girl who came from a loving family. He wiped his tears with his sleeve. "You're lying," he accused her.

"I am not." She turned back to Beau and gave his ball back. She played with the hem of her shirt. "Well, I suppose I lied before. My mother does not really work abroad; she owns a book publishing company located in England. I suppose she didn't want me or my father getting in the way of her success, so she left us. We stayed here while she worked elsewhere, though she did send us money every end of the month. But it is not enough; money is never enough to compensate for your absence. So, I guess, both of our mothers neglected us in a way."

"So that's why you like books..." Tate smiled.

She rolled her eyes. "It was the one good thing she passed down to me, I suppose."

"What's her name?"

"Emma Carlisle. She mainly publishes children's books."

"Have you met her before?" He felt bad for prying, but he was curious. "What is she like?"

"Of course I've met her. I was five or six when she decided that her marriage with Dad was getting her nowhere, that she missed the life of being single and being the head of her company. She left us, and I haven't seen her since. I remember that she was kind but a little sharp-tongued."

"Just like you?"

Sienna punched his knee. "Shut up."

Beauregard tapped on the floor and held up his ball. "Play!"

"I think that's enough play for the meantime, Beau." Tate stood up and dusted his jeans. He grinned at Sienna and said, "Come with me. You should check this out." He crossed the attic and felt for the wall. He began to dislodge some part of the wall, pulling out planks.

"You're going to get us in trouble," she warned him. "What are you doing?"

"No kidding." He pulled out a jar filled with yellowish water. "Look at this. Cool, huh?"

She knelt beside him and eyed the jar. "What is this?"

"One of Dr. Montgomery's experiments went wrong."

" _Who_ is Dr. Montgomery? Seriously, Tate, answer my questions!"

He stopped rummaging through the hole in the wall and looked at her. "I will answer your questions, so just wait." Then, he went back to his business. He grabbed a handful of old magazines and presented it to her. "I think this belonged to Chad. If you have nothing to read, here's some gay porn for you. Hope you don't mind."

She observed the pink magazine with a handsome man on the cover. "I think I'll give this a read. Looks vintage and interesting."

"Ah, here we go." He placed a box on the floor and tugged it open. He laid out the various old pictures so she could see them one by one. He pointed to a dark-haired man in white suit. "Now, this is Charles Montgomery, who built this house for his wife, Nora." He showed a family picture with Charles, Nora, and their child. "This is Nora," he said, handing the photo to Sienna.

Sienna stared long at the face of the young woman with light blonde hair. "She looks so beautiful here."

"She's beautiful all right, but she was more of a confused woman." Next, he handed her a picture of a child. "This is Thaddeus, their one and only son. Do you want to know their story? It makes a better book than any of those you read, I promise."

"Tell me."

"Back in the 1920s, famous surgeon Charles Montgomery and his family moved here. He was a drug addict and used his skills to perform illegal abortions in the basement, with the help of Nora. There was a time when one of the girls told her boyfriend what happened here, so the boyfriend kidnapped the Montgomery tyke and dismembered him."

"Dismembered?" Sienna gasped.

"Yes, dismembered limb from limb and sent the remains back to Charles and Nora. Now insane, Charles tried to sew his son back and succeeds, eventually creating a monster that continues to live here, at this very moment."

She felt shivers running down her spine. "Impossible. You can't sew someone back, even if you are the best surgeon in the world. It was 1920s and they did not have the technology back then."

"Tell that to Charles," Tate mocked her. "Either way, the creature remains here while Nora killed her husband and then shot herself in the head."

"What kind of creature lives in the basement?"

"Do you want to see?"

She shook her head. "No, I changed my mind."

He smirked. "Bet you're just scared."

"And you're not?"

"Definitely not. I lived here for years. Nothing could scare me now. You, on the other hand, get scared a lot."

"Because it is only _normal_ to be afraid of burned people and ghosts?" She raised her brow.

Tate frowned. "Normal people are boring."

"Well, sorry if I am boring you." She stood up and waved her farewell to Beau. She went to the stairs before Tate could follow and stop her. When she saw him struggling to get down, she broke into a run downstairs and bumped into someone else.

Out of reflex, she slapped him.

"Ow, watch it! Show some respect to the person with disability!"

Sienna did a double take and blinked. "Who are you?"

"Excuse me, missy, but who are _you?_ "

"Larry!" Tate arrived, scowling at the newcomer with a semi-burned face. "Get your hands off her!"

"Oh, hello, Tate. Sorry to interrupt but it was your girlfriend touching _me_."

"I didn't do anything!" Sienna interjected.

"She slapped me in the face!" Larry pointed at his left cheek, where third-degree burns could be seen. He was wearing black suit and pants, a white collared shirt underneath and black necktie. His left arm looked surgically attached to his chest, but in a closer inspection, it was due to the severe burns on his body.

"Enough!" Tate crackled his knuckles and sized Larry down. "What do you want, you bastard? You're not welcome in this house!"

"I wasn't aware you owned th—"

Tate grabbed Larry by the neck and lifted him up with ease. His eyes were darker than usual, his face contorted into one of pure anger and hatred. His other fist curled into a tight ball, ready to knock the air out of Larry's lungs.

"What is happening here?" Moira appeared and frowned upon seeing both men in a compromising situation. "Tate, put Larry down please."

Still glaring, the blond boy dropped the older man to the ground, who immediately gasped for air. Tate growled and shoved his hands in his pockets, to keep himself from attacking the man even more. He went behind Sienna, as though she was a shield that needed to protect him from an assault. His eyes narrowed as he watched Moira trying to help Larry on his feet.

"It is good to see you as well, Tate." Larry coughed out and grinned at Sienna. "Your girlfriend, I presume?"

"It's none of your business," Tate snarled at him. "Get lost, you pompous goblin!"

"Hi, my name is Larry Harvey." He offered his right hand to the brunette girl. "I used to live in this house until—"

"Until I burned him to hell," Tate finished, narrowing his eyes fiercely. "Get out of this house."

No one seemed to give him attention.

Sienna offered a little smile and shook Larry's hand. "Good evening. My name is Sienna, I'm new here. Sorry about the slap, but you kind of startled me."

"Oh, it's nothing." Larry chuckled while Tate rolled his eyes. "You look familiar though. Have we met? Are you some kind of celebrity because I swear I've seen you on TV before?"

"TV?" Moira said, all their attention shifting to hers. "You don't mean the news, do you? The cops are still looking for her after all."

Tate's eyes widened at the realization.

Knowing the local police, they would not stop until they found the missing girl, or at least learn something regarding her whereabouts. If Larry continued coming into the house, with him so unpredictable and so _alive_ , he could walk into the police station with ease and tell them that Sienna Hale—the teen who disappeared last Halloween, whose father worked in a convenience store and whose mother was a wealthy owner of a book publishing company—was _actually_ in the Murder House. It meant all sorts of trouble if the police found her corpse in the basement, which was more or less slowly decomposing right now.

"Sienna," Tate whispered, taking her hand in his. She flinched at his touch, but did not snatch her hand away. He looked deeply into her eyes and said, "I think we should return to the library now. You still have a book to finish, remember?"

"Oh yeah." She nodded, unaware that Larry Harvey was alive and could do her _more_ than just a small favour. She glanced at Larry and Moira, before being led back upstairs by the nervous blond boy.

Before the pair could disappear from his sight, Larry smiled and waved his hand.

"It was nice meeting you, new girl!"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Thank you for the new favourites and followers! Also, I want to thank the reviewers from the previous chapters: _Jenna, Guest, Flores, Emmettluver2010, bittersweet DELUSIONS,_ and _miss Hale20_. I am glad all of you are enjoying this story. About the Harmons storyline being included in this story, I am not quite sure if I should add it or not, though I think it sounds like a good challenge to test Tate and Sienna's "relationship", especially we know that Violet would be present, too.

What do you guys think? Should I add the Harmons? :D


	6. Upcoming Threats

**Chapter 06**

 _ **Upcoming Threats**_

* * *

Tate made sure she was asleep before he moved out of the library. For the past month that Sienna was with them, he noticed that she continued to act as though she was alive; she regularly took a bath and changed her clothes, borrowing from what Moira scarcely had or some of the old clothes left by the previous owners of the house; she ate in the kitchens and spent most of her time reading books; at night, around midnight, she would call it a day and get some sleep. Tate could never understand why she was doing it. Did she want to _feel_ alive? Ghosts like them did not need to take a bath—not because nobody gave a shit if you smelled good or not—but it was utterly unnecessary. Changing clothes was fine; Tate did that, too.

But sleeping?

"Sienna?" He called out in his soft voice. From where he sat at the feet of the chaise longue, he could tell she was sleeping, her chest moving like she was breathing. Quietly, he moved forward until his face was close to hers, and he savoured the peaceful look on her face.

Most of the time, she remained distant to him. She still called him out on his mistake that accursed Halloween night, the first time he set his eyes on her and decided that letting her die would make her such a good addition into the Murder House. She still hated him for that, but in some ways she did not mind him visiting her in the library, or giving her quick tours around the house. Moira said it was a good start for both of them, since she and some of the other ghosts could not bear all the shouting and running around caused by the two teenagers.

His fingers brushed her left cheek, his breath hitching up in his throat if ever Sienna woke up and found him so close to her. But she was nowhere in waking up; she stayed up for hours only to finish her new book. In the morning, Tate thought with some kind of enthusiasm, she would be distressed that she had no new book to read.

A pair of heeled shoes tapped across the corridor.

"Honey? Moira said I'd find you here..."

Tate drew away from the girl's sleeping figure and turned around to see his mother by the entrance. He sulked and whispered, "What do you want?"

"I wanted to see you." Constance smiled and was about to take a step forward, until she noticed her son was warning her with a glare. She swallowed and gestured to Sienna. "Is she starting to get used in here? Does she still act so mean around you?"

"I hardly understand why you try so desperate to sound like you care," he snapped, although he kept his voice quiet. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Let's not talk here," she whispered back. "Your friend is asleep, and I don't want to wake her up."

"Good." He stood up and went to exit the library. "Because I don't want to blame you if she wakes up."

Constance followed him, after sparing a glimpse over her shoulder. She made sure her heels did not make tapping noises anymore, fearing that it would annoy her son more than it could wake up the sleeping ghost. Her eyes bore through Tate's back, her mind thinking of a way to start a small conversation with him.

"Do you feel any better, my darling?"

He rounded towards her, seething. " _Don't_ call me that."

"O-Of course, Tate." She kept her eyes on the ground until they reached the kitchen. She settled herself on the chair, her arms folded on the white counter, as her son and Moira lined up in front of her. "I have updates about the police search..."

Just as Constance expected, her son's dark eyes flickered with curiosity and fear.

"Do they know? Are they going to search the house and take her away? Because that wouldn't happen, I _won't_ let them."

"Hush, honey, no one knows Sienna is here," Constance assured him, smiling. She urged herself not to reach out in her purse and pull out a cigarette, only to calm her tensed nerves. It was hard to please her son, but when it did, it was because of the most unpredictable reasons. "I went to the station this afternoon and found out that there are still no leads. Her friend continues to look for her, though, and I heard he already contacted her father, who lives in the next city. He will probably arrive in our neighbourhood in a few days."

Tate ran his fingers through his blond hair, a habit he developed when nervous. "What do the police say? Are they coming back here?"

"I am not sure." She shook her head. "No one in the station believes that she is dead, unless a body comes up sooner or later. So far, she remains in the list of missing persons."

He sighed in relief.

"Larry was here the other day," Moira changed the subject, more concerned about what the man told her than the on-goings in a police station. "He said something about that real estate agent being broke that she needs to find another set of family to live here."

"Marcy?" Tate glared. "She wants someone else here?"

"Ah, I heard about that as well." Constance frowned upon being overshadowed for a moment by the red-haired maid. She wanted her son's attention focused on her, and to no one else. She continued smiling to both of them, however. "After the last family, which was five months ago, Marcy needs to compensate for the long interval. This house is not getting any better, and it needs to be used unless she wants it closed and her job to be in big trouble."

"It is time for Christmas," Moira interrupted, "and Marcy needs her money."

"Then she can go fuck herself," Tate rasped. "I won't have another obnoxious people making noises."

"Last time there was a family, you scared them off the property," the maid pointed out.

"Finally! Something pretty boy and I could agree upon!" Chad Warwick appeared, smirking at them as he entered. His green sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, his dark hair swept upwards with a hair gel. He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of vodka. "Anyone care to drink with me?"

"We were talking privately," Constance admonished. "Show some respect."

"Respect?" Chad snickered. "Respect to two old women, do you mean? Oh no, honey. This is my house, remember? I have _every_ right to be involved."

"Exactly." Patrick Barnes also arrived, leaning against the sink. "What's with all the talk about a new family moving in?"

"It is not yet decided," Moira answered him. "However, there seems like a good chance that Marcy could persuade that family to move in here."

Constance smiled deviously. "I'll be counting on your little tricks, you slut."

"Or maybe we should just call on pretty boy and make him have sex with the daughter," Chad suggested teasingly. "That should scare them off."

Tate's face darkened. "Do you want me to slice your stomach open and pull out your guts?"

"You watch your filthy mouth," Constance warned Chad, who remained grinning. "I can't believe we have to deal with someone like you."

"Tell that to your son," Patrick said. "He's the reason why we are here in the first place."

"Because you homos have no guts to get a baby," Tate snapped.

"You really have mommy issues, don't you?" Chad crooned. "I understand, especially if you have such a deranged mother who takes so many boyfriends to her bed. I understand that, too; if I could just get out of this house, I'd take as many boyfriends as I could, too." He spared a sideways glance to Patrick, well aware that it was Patrick's infidelity that caused their relationship to stagger.

Constance stood up from the chair, and frowned at the flamboyant man. "How dare you speak about me that way?"

"I can call out your mistakes," Chad answered. "It was your fault your son has issues. He has the compulsive need to please the ladies of this house, and luckily, he does it without resorting to that _thing_ dangling between his legs." He grinned and calmly sipped his vodka. "Remember to keep your pants to yourself, pretty boy. Sienna seems to be a good girl and she won't appreciate if you take them off."

 _That's it, I've had it_.

Curling his hand into a tight fist, Tate Langdon threw himself towards the older man. His fist came in contact with Chad's lower jaw, sending him backwards and staggering to his feet. He felt his mother grabbing his shoulder to stop him, but he shrugged her off and advanced more. Patrick was then on his face, defending his lover, and Tate bent low to deliver a strong punch to Patrick's belly. Despite being taller and physically bigger than the teenager, Patrick coughed out. He dug his heels onto the floor and tackled Tate to the sink, hovered over the blond boy, grabbed his collar, and banged his head repeatedly against the metal sink.

"Stop, stop it!" Constance screeched at them, pounding on Patrick's broad shoulders to let her son go. "Get your filthy hands off my child! You monster, get away from him! Stop _hurting_ my son!"

Bleeding from the nose, Tate got hold of one of Patrick's fists. He moved his knees between Patrick's legs and kicked upwards, hitting the older man's groin. The grip on his collar loosened as Patrick moaned in pain, giving Tate the moment to escape his clutches. Then, smiling and tasting his own blood, the teenager grabbed Patrick's shoulders and sent him flying across the kitchens.

Chad rushed over to his lover, checking if he was okay, and then glared up at Tate. "You really are a sick bastard!"

"What? You want to have another round?" Tate dashed forward and forced Chad to his feet, curled his fist, and punched again. He did not let go of the collar; instead, he held on to it, punching the insufferable man over and over again. He could not hear his mother's cries of plea or Moira's gentle words, telling him to stop. His entire mind was set to punch the hell out of Chad for insulting and infuriating him.

"Stop! Tate, honey, stop that!" Constance did not have the strength to pry her son off of Chad. She could only cry and beg for him to stop fighting. She watched in horror as Patrick got up from the floor, his chest heaving, as he walked towards the two and grabbed a fistful of Tate's blond hair, yanking him away from Chad.

"Please you have to stop fighting," Moira called out, but her voice was muffled by curses.

Patrick dragged Tate across the kitchen, still holding the teenager's hair, and threw him back on the floor. Tate fell with his face first, grunting a little and coughing out more blood. As he tried to catch his breath, Patrick's strong hand pulled at his shirt, forcing him to stand up, as his other fist wheeled in for another punch on the face.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Sienna arrived after waking up from the shouts and clattering of pans in the kitchen. She gave Constance and Moira a confused look, before her eyes fell upon the situation of the three men: Chad was leaning against the fridge, while Patrick continued to punch Tate on the face and stomach.

Constance went immediately to her. "Please, you have to make them stop. You have to. He doesn't listen to me; maybe he'll listen to you. Please..."

Sienna did not understand what was happening, but she nodded and tried to get their attention to her. "Tate, Patrick! That's enough!"

Only Chad seemed to notice her, as he smiled and casually waved his hand to her.

"Stop fighting!" She approached Patrick and tried to get him off Tate, but even he did not notice and shrugged her away. She reeled back, astonished with the man's strength. She watched helplessly as Patrick continued to bludgeon with his fists, while Tate struggled to get back onto his feet and defend himself from the assault.

"Please... oh, please..." Constance sobbed.

Frowning, Sienna went to the counter and snatched the kettle. She removed the lid and splashed its boiling water to Tate and Patrick. "Stop fighting, goddamn it!"

Both of them stopped, grunting at the pain the water caused. It seeped right through their wounds from the fight, scalded their skin for a few moments. The taller man straightened himself and glared at the perpetrator, who happened to be the new girl in the house. _She needs to be taught some lessons to respect her elders_ , Patrick thought venomously, approaching her with narrowed eyes. He watched as the brunette girl backed away from him, looking more afraid now.

At once, Tate was back on his feet and shielded Sienna from Patrick's uncontrollable temper. He embraced her tightly, his strong arms wrapped around her small figure so protectively, his bloody face resting against her shoulder and feeling the strands of her hair tickling his bruised cheeks. He closed his eyes and waited for Patrick to drag him away from her, but it never happened.

"Enough, Pat," Chad finally said, who was still panting. "Let it go. It's over for now."

Patrick scoffed and retreated. "Consider yourself lucky, asshole."

When the couple vanished, Constance hurriedly went to her son.

"Oh, darling, let me see your face..."

Tate grunted and kept his arms around Sienna. "Leave us alone," he snapped and felt the girl in his arms flinch at his cold voice. So, he tried again, more softly this time. "Leave us alone, Mom..."

Her face brightened at the fact that her favourite child acknowledged her as mother. "Sure, honey," Constance whispered, sighing in delight. She wiped her tears and patted Sienna on the shoulder, who was still trapped in her son's embrace. She smiled at her, as a form of thanks. "I'll be off now."

When the blonde woman was gone as well, it was the only time Sienna tried to move away from Tate.

"Everything should be fine now." She wriggled out of his embrace, but he was stubborn and did not let her go. It was beginning to feel uncomfortable—here, in this compromising position where Moira O'Hara could see them perfectly. The red-haired maid knew it was a crucial time for the two teenagers, thus she vanished from sight as well.

"Did I wake you up?" Tate asked shakily.

Sienna blinked, uncomprehending. "What?"

"It was the noise, wasn't it?" He finally moved to look at her face; when he did, he also showed his damaged face: a bleeding forehead, two bruised cheeks, a cut bottom lip and an open wound on his jaw. His eyes were red as he seemed to be on the verge of crying. To keep his tears to himself, he bit his lower lip but winced, as the wound opened and blood exuded. "It was my fault that I woke you up, Sienna..."

"No, no." She hushed him gently. Her fingers swept through his bangs, so she could see his eyes. "It wasn't your fault. You should be more careful around them from now on."

"Yeah." He nodded and was about to wrap his arms around her again when she pulled away from him. He blinked at her, looking confused.

Her eyes tried not to look at him. "I, uh... I think I need to go back in the library..."

"Oh, I understand." But he did _not_ understand at all. He looked at his feet, letting the blood from his forehead drip to the ground, and he made a mental note to make Moira clean it up later. His spirits sank when he saw Sienna walking away from him, obviously fazed because he _touched_ her again.

As the brunette was exiting the kitchen, Moira reappeared to block her.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to the library," Sienna answered, pretending to yawn. "I only went downstairs to see what the commotion was all about."

Moira gestured to Tate, who remained standing and watching his blood trickle to the ground. "Are you going to leave him alone looking like that?"

"I know you'll help him," Sienna countered. She was not dumb not to notice what the maid was implying. She tried to pass again but her path was blocked. She fought the urge to roll her eyes and scowl.

"He won't let me help," Moira said. "He will just get upset and lock himself in his room, let his wounds become worse."

"Ghosts can suffer wounds, too?"

"We do, dear. It takes a while to heal, and we feel the pain as well."

"I can see no reason why I should be helping him. In case you don't remember, he was the one who let those beasts get into me and murder me."

"Is that how you think you should repay him? By letting him suffer, too?"

"You once told me that men are controlling. Where is that now? Am I supposed to clean up after their mess like you do?"

"I suppose not." Moira pursed her lips. She liked the nerves of this new girl. "Aren't you going back to the library?"

Sienna groaned. "You know what? Maybe I'll help, for now at least. I can't stomach him standing like an idiot, watching his blood pool on the floor." She returned to the kitchen and grabbed Tate's sleeve. She saw his nonchalant face come back to life.

Tate smiled at her. "Sienna..."

"Yeah. Come on." She tugged at his sleeve, but he slipped his hand into hers instead. She froze for a while, her heart beating so loudly in her ears, and her breath hitching in her throat. She did not know how exactly to react; she was supposed to be _hating_ him, right? Why was she helping him all of a sudden? Was it because she felt sorry for him and his bloody face?

She decided to ignore it. She led him to the bathroom on the second floor. When she opened the door, a dark-haired nurse with pale skin and black eyes was waiting inside.

"Look what he was done to me," Maria the nurse said, pointing at her red-tainted uniform.

Sienna unconsciously squeezed Tate's hand.

"Go away!" Tate ordered Maria, who vanished at once. He looked down to his female companion and smiled. "The trick to make other ghosts leave you alone is to tell them to go away."

"Figures." Her voice sounded sarcastic, which made the blond boy chuckle as he entered the bathroom. "If you can do that, why didn't you do it to Chad and Patrick?"

"Because they are being pricks," he pointed out. He bent over the sink and tried to wash the blood off his face. He winced when the cold water hit his wounds. "Oh, fuck me."

"Stop it; you're doing it the wrong way." She rolled her eyes yet again and went beside him. She opened the medical cabinet and pulled out some gauze pad. She soaked it in water and put her finger on Tate's chin, prompting to look up.

He focused his gaze on her amber eyes, while her hands deftly and carefully pressed on the newly-acquired wounds. He hissed when the cloth touched his skin, making Sienna a little startled. He smirked. "Jumpy, huh?"

"Not really." She pressed harder on his forehead, letting the blood flow down to his temple. She wiped the blood and rinsed the cloth.

"How do you know all this? I thought you wanted to be a writer?"

"I do, and I do not have to be a nurse to know first aid. All schools teach them to students. Come here." She rested her hand on his nape, so that he could not withdraw. She wiped more blood from his cheeks and nose, and then brushed her fingers lightly on his broken bottom lip. When he took a sharp intake of breath, she gasped and drew her hand away.

Tate shook his head, as his dark eyes softened. "Don't stop."

She wiped the rest of his face with the cloth and discarded it on the sink. "There, you're good to go."

It looked like he was waiting for something else, but Sienna did not want to speak anymore. Without words, she left him in the bathroom and returned straight to the library, where she actually felt safe. She slumped back on the chaise longue, covering herself with the blanket, as she looked out of the glass window.

 _What was that back there?_

Whatever she felt in the bathroom with Tate, it was beyond her comprehension. It was like something warm was brewing in the pit of her stomach, something that made her chest ache, and her head swirl from the close proximity. It was the first time she looked so long at his face—the very first time to notice that his eyes were not black, but were actually gray, like Constance's. She also noticed that he tensed up when she touched him, but she did not understand _why_. Did Tate feel uncomfortable around her like she felt around him?

There was a knock.

She looked away from the window and saw Tate entering the library. "Still haven't gone down yet?"

"I have nothing to do downstairs." He shrugged and went back to his usual place at the foot of the chaise longue. "Mind if I stick around for a few hours?"

"Suit yourself." Sienna stretched her arms and lay back on the soft mattress. She closed her tired eyes and heard Tate moved closer. Then, his fingers were on her brown hair, working through the tangles.

"Mother once told me that a girl's weakness is playing with her hair." He smiled. "Is it true?"

"It's true enough." She yawned and tucked herself deeper in the layer of pillows and blanket. She felt herself slipping back into a dreamless oblivion.

"Okay. Sleep tight, Sienna."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Yes, I am guilty as charged for not updating for almost a year. I am so sorry for everyone who has been following this story from the beginning, then suddenly get interrupted five chapters later. Now I am coming back with a new update, and your support would still be greatly appreciated. I want to thank especially the previous reviewers: _GhostlySights, ABANDON3D PAG3, Emmettluver2010, ChelseasDeadSmile_ , and _AwesomeFangirlOtaku01_.

Right now, I am still considering the appearances of the Harmons. Do you think they would blend well with the story, with Tate's eyes currently on Sienna? Or would Tate become interested in Violet? ;)


	7. Wrong Move

**Chapter 07**

 _ **Wrong Move**_

* * *

Up in the attic, Sienna found solace while playing with Beau. She kept rolling the ball towards him; he would clap his hands and then reeled the red ball back to her, and repeatedly. Half of her attention was focused on Beau, while her amber eyes continued to scan the contents of the old pink magazine in her hands. She had nothing else to read in the library—the newspapers were too old and boring—and the cold penetrated the glass window, making her shiver under her blanket.

She flipped one page to another, reading articles about how men stimulate themselves, surveys about men's hidden secrets and guilty pleasures, and the list went on.

"Ooh, kinky."

Startled, she immediately closed the magazine as Tate heaved himself up on the platform. She glared at him and discarded what she was reading on the floor.

"Don't stop on my account." He chuckled and sat beside her. "You never struck me as someone who'd read gay porn. Quite desperate to read something, huh?"

She made a face and rolled the ball back to Beau. "It's inappropriate to talk something about the topic," she said in her defence.

"Really? Doesn't seem inappropriate to me. It is a natural thing. There is no need to be ashamed."

"I am not ashamed!" Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment. "Stop being so annoying!"

Sensing that she was upset, Beau crawled towards her and protectively wrapped his gangly arms around her torso, with his disfigured face pressing against her shoulder. He let out a grunt that sounded like a warning to his younger brother. "No... No..."

Tate gaped. "What...?"

"Seems like he's grown fond of me," Sienna smugly told him.

"Yeah right." The blond boy scoffed and pried Beau's hands off. "Okay, I get it. I won't bother her _that_ much."

Beau looked long at his brother's face, and then nodded in agreement. The chains around his ankles clinked at the slightest of his movement. He crawled backwards, caught the red ball in his hand, and returned to the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" Sienna asked when Beau was gone. "Are you here to bother me again?"

"Something like that," Tate crooned and snatched the pink magazine from underneath her thigh. He smirked as he opened the magazine and feasted his eyes on the explicit content. "Mm-hmm... have you read all of these stuffs? Do girls really think gay porn is hot?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes? I don't know. I just have nothing to read."

"Well, would you look at that?" He showed her an image of two men—one was standing and looking out in the distance, while the other knelt in front of the other man, with his hands ready to pull down the neon green boxers. Tate tried to hold back his laughter as his friend shied away from that image. "What's the matter? I thought you like reading this..."

"You know what? Just shut it, okay?"

"How about this one?" He flipped the page and showed her an image of a handsome man holding a blue vibrator. "Pretty hot stuff, huh?"

"For argument's sake, Tate, stop it!" Sienna sighed exasperatedly, covering her blushing face with her hands.

He gave her an innocent look. "What? It was _you_ reading it, not me."

"So what? I told I have nothing else to read. Besides, I was playing with Beau before you interrupted us. What did you want anyway?"

"Nothing. Just bored, I guess."

"Why don't you go and fight Patrick again?"

"I didn't want that to happen, okay?" His voice snapped a little at her. "He provoked me. It was his fault in the first place."

"Fine. If you say so—"

Suddenly, Tate jerked up and grabbed her. His hand went to her mouth, forcing her to shut up, as his eyes darted around the dark attic. He let go of her and went to turn off the light, the old bulb hissing for a while until the light was completely gone. Sienna became paralyzed with fear, feeling the darkness closing in on her, tendrils of shadow and smoke wrapping around her. She panicked at once, gasping and backing away from where she sat, her hands trying to grope whatever she could reach.

Once again, a hand touched her shoulder and she was about to scream when the hand covered her mouth.

"Will you quit it with the screaming?!" Tate sharply whispered in her ear.

She groaned and removed the hand from her mouth. "I would if you stop scaring the living daylights out of me!"

"Okay, just be quiet!"

"What for?!"

"Ssshh!"

"What the hell, Tate!"

"Someone's coming!" He gestured for her to stay put, and then crawled towards the entrance to the attic. He lifted the lid and peered down, hearing some voices down the corridor. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that Sienna also crawled towards him, afraid of being left alone.

"Who is it?" She poked her head through the space and could hear muffled voices and tapping of heeled shoes.

Tate pulled her back and closed the attic door. "I think it's Marcy."

"Who in the world is Marcy?"

"Marceline Dereham, goes by the nickname Marcy because she thinks it's cute, but it's actually really gross." He shuddered and she laughed. "A real estate agent in charge of selling this house to numerous people; among those people are Chad and Patrick. I think they bought the house sometime around 2010, and then other families moved in here. Last family, quite a big one, arrived half a year ago and left a month later."

"You think Marcy is here to sell the house again?"

"It is what she always does," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. "She never comes back here unless she has another pair of stupid couple or desperate family looking for a good house. She makes sure all the equipment here are good as new, which is why we have a working TV and fridge."

"Is it bad that families move in here?" She raised her eyebrow.

"Sometimes," he murmured. "Most of them are just pricks and do not deserve to live here, so we scare them off. Us ghosts of this house can tolerate good-natured people, but some of them just go off the boundaries. Besides, we like peace and quiet, not being annoyed with some toddler screaming at the top of his lungs, or spoiled kids making messes in the bedrooms. Moira hates cleaning up after children."

"Have you ever been found out before? Did other families know you were a ghost, too?"

"I don't think so. No one could really tell if we're ghosts or not." Tate grinned mischievously. "We can eat, sleep and drink much like them; we can take a bath and change clothes, make it look like we're breathing." He slipped closer to her, sitting cross-legged and looking intently into her eyes. "We can _feel_ as well, we can make love like them..."

"Ah, lovely," she said, her voice dull.

"Well no one really knows what happens after ghosts make love with the living."

"Nothing probably, because we're dead. It requires a real sperm cell to fertilize an egg cell. Then the zygote would go to the uterus and the mother could carry her child for nine months—if that's what you're wondering about."

He barked out a laugh. "You are weird with your science-y facts, Sienna."

"They cannot tell the difference, between ghosts and humans?"

"Nope." He beamed like a child.

Sienna sighed.

He cocked his head to the side, looking curious. "What's the matter?"

"We can still act like humans, but we cannot leave the house." She fixed her eyes on the ground, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her skirt. She bit her lower lip and continued. "We can feel, you said, but what about our dreams? My dreams?"

Tate shook his head, failing to understand her meaning.

"I had a dream once, that I would study really well and finish college, read and write books as much as I could, travel the world, make my father proud." Hot tears began to roll down her flushed cheeks. "I wanted to stand out and be known, I wanted to be a writer, Tate. I had so many dreams..."

"Hey, hey, no need to cry." He tried to comfort her, but he could not do so if she would not let him touch her. She still hated him if he went closer than necessary. He bent his head lower, so that he could look into her eyes, but Sienna bowed her head lower and continued to cry. Frowning, he blew at his bangs. "Because it is all my fault, isn't it?"

"Your fault, all right." She sniffled.

"Can't I make it up to you?"

"Not unless you can change the past and give me back my life..."

"Obviously and unfortunately, I can't change the past."

"Then you can never make it up to me." She wiped the rest of her tears and went for the entrance.

His dark eyes narrowed. "What do you think you're doing? Marcy is still downstairs."

"We're ghosts, remember? They can't see us... or can they?"

"'Course they can, stupid, which is why you have to be careful around them. Once the new family moves in, you have to be more careful not to appear or make unnecessary sounds. You cannot go into the library and spend the rest of the day there any longer."

"Well that sounds—"

"Like complete bullshit, right?"

She glared. "Could you stop it with the obscene words? I was about to say unfortunate."

"Fine, fine." He held up his palms in surrender. "Whatever you say, you're the good girl around here anyway."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Tate picked up the pink magazine again and teased her with it. He laughed when Sienna looked away from the contents. "You're the good girl with guilty pleasures..."

"You know what? With or without Marcy down there, whoever she is, I am leaving you here in the attic. Please don't waste your time visiting me in the library because I don't want to see your face for the rest of the day. Good morning." Sienna opened the door ad carefully climbed down.

She dusted off her red and white polka dot dress, with a black leather belt around her waist, given to her by Moira. The skirt reached above her knees, the sleeveless dress chilling her to the bone during this winter, but she had nothing to wear unless she wanted one of Tate's many sweaters and long sleeves and flannel shirts. She did not want another sweater episode like the first day, when Chad and Patrick walked in on them while Tate was helping her remove his sweater. It was embarrassing.

As she was about to leave, Sienna came face-to-face with a middle-aged woman, her dyed hair pulled into an updo. She wore a formal tailored suit, pearl earrings, and carried satchel on her arm.

"Excuse me, who are you and what are you doing here?" Marcy Dereham's voice sounded demanding and authoritative.

Still hidden in the attic, Tate peered down and gritted his teeth. _Oh shit, oh shit._

"Is she one of the potential buyers you are talking about, Marcy?"

Beside the realtor was a tall, good-looking businessman with dark hair, hazel eyes and charming smile. He stood a head taller than both Marcy and Sienna, and wore a simple shirt and pants. At a closer inspection, his hair was lined with some gray strands, his handsome face wrinkled on the forehead and sides of his mouth. His fingers were intertwined together as he spoke in his deep voice.

"Quite a young potential buyer, I say."

"N-No, Mister Harmon," Marcy stammered, unsure what to tell her client. "She is... I mean, she is..."

"Oh, Sienna, darling!" Someone else exclaimed behind them.

Constance Langdon walked in, carrying herself in an air of confidence. She looked so refresh in this particular winter morning, wearing red trench coat and black pants, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. She smiled up at the gentleman, who acknowledged her presence by shaking her hand and introducing himself.

"Good morning. I am Ben Harmon," he said.

"Ah, I am Constance, and I live next door." She gestured her gloved hand towards the brown-haired young woman. "This is my daughter, Sienna. Forgive us for entering without permission, but we heard that we might have new neighbors, so we decided to come and see."

Marcy looked unconvinced. "I never knew you have a daughter..."

"I do," Constance answered sternly, her voice dripping with honeyed poison.

"It should be no problem," Ben interrupted, smiling at the realtor. "I am still considering taking this house. It is large and convenient, has welcoming neighbors..." He smiled at the two women. "My child should be delighted to have such good neighbors."

 _Child?_ Tate thought with dry enthusiasm. _Great, Moira_ _ **loves**_ _children._

"We would be very happy," Constance agreed. "You're just in time for Christmas."

"Mister Harmon, I think you should check the rest of the house. If you let me take you around, you would see the library." Marcy began to lead the tall man further into the house, explaining, "You said you have children? I am sure they will enjoy the ambiance of this semi-circular library. It actually gets most of the sunlight among the other rooms in the house, so if you have a studious child under your wing, this is the very best place to go."

Once the realtor and her client were gone, Tate opened the attic door and jumped out.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He grabbed Sienna's shoulders and shook her. "I just told you to be more careful when people are around!"

"Well, I am sorry!" She countered, pulling his hands off her. "It is not my fault ghosts can be seen by humans!"

"There is a way, you know," Constance chimed in, "to make yourself appear or disappear in front of the humans."

Sienna rounded towards her. "What? How?"

"Tell her, darling."

Tate took a sharp intake of breath, loathing how his mother called him as though he was a little boy. Yet he let that pass, just this one time, because she helped Sienna out of the mess with Marcy and the client. He nodded curtly to his mother and tugged at Sienna's hand, leading her opposite to the direction in which Marcy led the man into. He pulled her along until they reached his bedroom. He pushed her in and locked the door behind him.

"What? Are you locking me in now so I can't cause any more trouble?" She placed her hands flat on her hips.

"Actually, that sounds like a _better_ idea than just teaching you how to control your disappearance."

"We can do that?"

"Yeah. Come here." He drew her towards his bed, but she shrugged him off and continued to stand. "Okay, listen to the master. All you need to do is focus. Focus between appearing or not; it all depends on you. You can vanish in thin air, like Chad always does, or you can appear at all times, like I do. Moira has a special trick that involves someone's sex, but I am not going through _that_."

Sienna laughed a little. "Great, so I just focus if I want to be seen, correct?"

"Uh-huh. I mean, it's easy, right?" He got up and went to his CD collection. "How about you stay around and hang out? You're always huddled in the library. Isn't it cold there?"

"Not really. Besides, I like it there. Whose room is this?"

"Mine, when I was still alive and acted as Constance's perfect son." He shoved one disc into the player and the music began. "Can you guess which song this is?"

She paused for a while. She often heard the song being played in the radio. Sometimes, her father played it on the player as well. "Smells Like Teen Spirit?"

"Perfect." Tate smiled and flopped back on his bed. He stretched his arms and legs, and sang along, " _And I forget just why I taste; oh yeah, I guess it makes me smile; I found it hard, it's hard to find; oh well, whatever, never mind!_ "

While humming along, Sienna went to rummage through his collection, hoping that he did not mind. She ran her fingers along the plastic CD cases, checked each one of them, and smiled at his complete collection of Nirvana's albums. Taped on the wall in front of her were posters. It seemed he really lived in a different decade than hers; her decade was all about Big Time Rush, One Direction, and so on. She was barely familiar with Kurt Cobain and Al Pacino, though she had watched some of Pacino's films for research paper on _The Merchant of Venice_ before.

The speakers blared on:

" _With the lights out, it's less dangerous_

 _Here we are now, entertain us_

 _I feel stupid and contagious_

 _Here we are now, entertain us."_

Tate stopped singing and observed her—she continued looking through his stuff, as though she was trying to figure out who he _really_ was. He stood up from the bed again, more silently this time, as his eyes did not leave her figure. He felt drawn to her now, intoxicatingly so; there was the familiar urge of getting close to her. His hands itched to touch her, his eyes took notice of her slightest movements, and his lips opened and closed, unsure what to tell.

Lost for words, Tate could not help but wrap his arms around her body. His nose was buried in her thick brown hair, smelling like an aphrodisiac. When he felt her freeze in his embrace, he bent down to kiss her neck softly.

Sienna gasped and stepped away from him. "Tate..."

Only then did he realize what he had done. "Sienna, I... I am _so_ sorry."

Like him, she was speechless. The mixed emotions prompted her tears to well in her eyes again, and she brought her hand to cover her quivering mouth. When she blinked, the tears began to fall. She held up her hand, telling him not to come closer, and then headed for the door. She closed it with a thundering force.

Tate, more furious than ever because of his recklessness, snatched the CD player and tossed it across the small bedroom. Kurt Cobain's voice was gone at once. He opened the drawer and pulled out one of the razors he would use when he wanted to cut himself. Right now, it was the best option he had. He wiped his own tears and went for the bathroom, taking the razor with him.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Happy New Year, everyone! May we all have a great 2017 ahead. In line with this, I would try to update more than last year. I would like to thank everyone who has been with me throughout this whole time. As it is widely requested, I decided to include the Harmons storyline (with Ben entering the stage at this point in the story). I can't wait to write Violet and how her relationship with Tate grows, and how Sienna would cope about it.

I would also like to focus more on Tate's POV if possible, though his character is complex. Suggestions and opinions are very much appreciated.

Again, I sincerely thank the reviewers from the previous chapter: _GhostlySights, Emmettluver2010, VampLucille, Soluna, Macy136, Pfannkuchen07,_ _JKrista_ , and _Jenna_.


	8. The Color Red

**Chapter 08**

 _ **The Color Red**_

* * *

Red−the color of passion, anger, blood.

Tate looked at his handiwork and smiled. The once snow-white bathroom was now painted red all over: the walls, the curtains, the tub, and the floor. He stood before the mirror and saw the stains on his cheeks. This was his doing, and he knew if he took one step closer to Sienna, she would back away with disgust. She always did that anyway, so why should he bother cleaning himself? He tipped his head to one side and let the light catch the stain on his cheek, and then turned the other way. Red−the color of danger.

His wrist throbbed with pain. He tried not to look down while he felt warm blood dripping from his several cuts, almost reaching his elbow. His hands were all but bloody, all five digits drenched with his blood. With a smile, he started leaving handprints on the wall, one after the other.

He did not care anymore. The pain was insignificant. The messy bathroom meant nothing. He deserved this after all; in fact, this was not enough for all his sins.

Blinking at his reflection on the mirror, he saw his dark eyes bloodshot with sobbing. His dark blond hair was a mess, and almost desperately, he swiped at his bangs to the side. There was not enough blood to answer for all his horrible mistakes. He did not have enough blood for it all. He grabbed the straight razor and ran it across his left wrist, gritting his teeth as the pain shot through his entire system, awakening a thousand sleeping nerves. He lifted his wrist to eye level and let the fresh blood trickle from the open wound down to the sink. With a proud smile, he turned the faucet and watched with satisfaction as the blood swirled with the water.

"What are you doing?" Nora Montgomery entered. She looked perplexed, her eyes filling with horror at the sight of so much blood. "Tate, what's happening here?"

"My fault," he murmured under his breath. He lowered his head so that she would not see his bloodshot eyes. "Why are you here?"

"I am looking for my baby." Nora closed the distance between them, taking careful steps. She peered at the teenager's face and saw him torn between confused and anger. Her hand shot up, cupping his stained cheeks. "Will you be my baby, Tate?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I think I am too old to be your baby, Nora."

"I just want a baby," she said, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She looked around again and trembled at the bloody mess, unaware that her own head was bleeding from the gunshot wound she inflicted upon herself so many years ago. "Why are you hurting yourself, Tate?"

"Seems the only thing I can do right," he whispered. "I can't do anything right with Sienna, and she hates me for it. She really hates me, you know? Tate rhymes with hate. She's right. Everybody likes her and she likes them back, but I am the only one she hates."

"Why would she say such a mean thing?" Her fingers raked through his hair and tugged some of his locks down to his ears. Her free hand came down to his shoulder, patting him with all the motherly tenderness she could muster. "Why does she hate you so much?"

"I do stupid things all the time. I never should have let her die." He curled his fist and punched the mirror, sending thousands of glass shards flying everywhere. His knuckles dripped blood afterwards. "If only I can bring her back to life. Maybe then she will like me."

Nora held him by the shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, my dear. You are a far better man than most I know."

"She will hate me no matter what," he answered, stubborn.

"Then apologize," she said simply. "Apologize for everything and I am sure she would forgive you. You are a hundred times a better man than Charles could ever be. Win her back, Tate. Make her feel special."

Tate only stared, unable to think of anything to do so. If he appeared to Sienna like now, bruised and bloodied and everything, she would definitely turn away from him. Or maybe she might treat his wounds again, just like that night when he and Patrick fought. Sienna was gentle to him back then, the feather-like brush of her fingertips making him ache for more. While Tate longed for a connection, she was cautious with it.

"Go to her," Nora urged, smiling. "Win her back and maybe you two can make a baby."

"Oh, um…" Tate laughed, a little embarrassed. "I can go to her and apologize, but I am not very sure about the last part. Sienna will _surely_ hate me for that."

"But why?" She blinked at him, confused. She stepped back to observe his face. "Don't you want to have a baby? I am looking for my baby, Tate. Maybe you can help me. Or you can have a baby and I can borrow her? I promise to give her back afterwards; I just really want to hold a baby."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think ghosts can even make one, Nora. And if we can, Sienna won't be best pleased," he said with a smile. He could already imagine the horrified look on the girl's face if he ever mentioned it to her.

Nora let the idea go. She nodded and turned her heels, heading for the doorway. "Win her back tonight," was all she said before disappearing.

Alone once again, he looked back at himself on the mirror. The same mess stood before him, but now his face seemed to glow with life after Nora's words of encouragement. He glanced at his wrists and decided to clean them up before going to the library. He bit his tongue when the cold water made contact with his wounds. Then he grabbed a clean towel from the rack, dried up his wrists and wiped his cheeks, and exited the bathroom.

As he was going down the stairs, he noticed that the main door was wide open.

Suddenly nervous, he dashed outside the looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. No Sienna running wildly down the streets calling for the police. He crossed the lawn and leaned his head back, hoping to see her by the window of the library. His heart skipped a beat as he watched her sitting by the window, a book in hand. Then his eyes narrowed when Sienna turned towards her right, as if talking to somebody.

Now more suspicious, Tate rushed back inside.

* * *

For some odd reason, she felt someone else's presence inside the house. Sienna tore her gaze from her hardbound book and looked around the small library. There was a small part of her that imagined Tate standing by the doorway like he usually did, leaning casually with his arms crossed over his chest, shooting her that cheeky little smirk. However, instead of the teenager that she hated so much for pulling out that move to her the other day, she found herself in the deadly silence of the place.

 _Must be my imagination_ , she concluded and went back to her book.

Not three minutes later, she heard heavy footsteps thudding on the wooden floor. No one in the Murder House walked so loudly, not even the muscular Patrick. The steps were slow and calculated, as if a predator approaching its prey. Sienna put down her book and waited. Whoever he was, he sure was going towards her direction.

A lone figure stood by the doorway. He was tall and gaunt, wearing a dark blue hoodie and grey pants. He wore a black mask over his face, but his dark eyes blinked at the sight of her.

She froze in an instant. Still seated on her chaise lounge, she slowly turned her body towards the stranger. Was he another ghost? One way to find out. "Who are you?" she asked.

The man cocked his head to the side.

"Do you live here?" She tried to keep her voice from trembling. Then she glanced behind the stranger and saw the twin boys from the first day. They were shaking their heads at her; one of them pressed an index finger against his lips to indicate her to remain silent.

"No," said the man, crossing the threshold like Tate had done so many times before. He fumbled with his hoodie and brought out a rope.

She eyed the rope and remembered the bandages used to suffocate her the night she died. She could almost see the three boys who assaulted her, the way their sour breaths fanned over her face as they pounded in and out of her, careless for nothing but their own enjoyment and sense of power over her. Her whole body trembled, her wide eyes unseeing nothing but this man before her. She could feel her neck becoming more and more restricted, narrower and stinging with pain. She could not breathe, she could not move, and she could not scream for anyone.

The sudden image of Troy and Bryan leaping forward to grab the stranger brought her back to her senses.

"Sienna!" Bryan was shouting, holding down the man's fists.

"Run!" Troy shoved the stranger to give her space to run away.

Tears fell from her flushed cheeks as she rushed down the staircase. She looked back, and was relieved that the stranger was not following her. Then she bumped onto someone tall. The force made her reel backwards, coming in face-to-face with another stranger with a mask over his face. The very fear made her stop panting, as she backed away and the man advanced towards her.

"Moira!" Sienna screamed, weeping now. She turned from the kitchen and ran to the dining room. She examined the place and continued calling out. "Chad, Patrick, somebody!"

"Get back here!" The man sauntered, delightfully watching her squirm with fear. "Didn't know someone still lived here. It's supposed to be abandoned, right? You live here alone, baby girl?"

"No, I am not alone," she snarled. Amber eyes glared right back at him. "And mark my words when I say this: you will die here tonight."

"Not until I am over with all the things I have in mind for you, sweetheart." He sprang towards her, arms wide open to catch her. She screamed at the top of her lungs when he trapped her in his strong arms. He struggled to keep their balance upright, but there was no taming this girl. She kept kicking her legs and shouting at his face, her nails digging into the skin of his forearm. He grinned and whispered in her ear. "I like it rough, sweetie."

Sienna cried harder and thrashed against his hold. "Tate," she pleaded. "Tate!"

As if on cue, Tate arrived with an axe. He smashed it down against the stranger's torso, took a step back, smashed again, and repeated the action until the man could barely breathe.

When the man was no longer moving, Sienna threw herself in Tate's open arms and buried her face in his chest. "Oh, Tate, Tate…" she whispered his name fervently.

"I am here now," he assured her. He wrapped his arms around her smaller form and pressed her closer to the length of his body. He could smell the rosewater essence on her skin. If only they could stay like this forever. But he drew back and held her at arm's length. "There's another one upstairs. Go to the basement and stay there until I come to get you, okay?"

"No, no, don't leave me." She held tight on his sleeve, her eyes begging him to stay. "Tate, please…"

His dark eyes softened at her. He cupped her cheek and held her gaze. "Someone has to take them out. I have to do it. Troy and Bryan cannot hold him back forever. I need to get him."

"Please, don't…"

"Go to the basement," he repeated. He had the axe clutched in his right hand, while the other weaved through her brown locks, pulled her closer, as he planted a swift reassuring kiss on her forehead. "You go to the basement and stay there. I promise to come and get you."

They heard footsteps and Tate turned around, raising the axe up in the air.

Nora stopped at the threshold. "What's happening? Why is there a man bleeding on the floor?"

"Take her to the basement," Tate said hurriedly, pushing Sienna towards the older woman. He smiled in reassurance, while Nora only nodded and pulled the brown-haired girl along with her. "And stay there until I come back!"

Without anyone on the way, he clutched the axe in both hands and proceeded to the library. He found Troy and Bryan tossed to the other side, appearing as if the stranger had snapped their necks. There were no signs anywhere, so Tate moved on towards the study room. It was messy, the papers all over the floor. He stressed that Moira would be disappointed to find out about this later, wherever that old hag was. Next, he went to his own bedroom and nothing seemed out of ordinary. _Where's the bloody bastard?_

He heard shuffling in the other room−the master's bedroom. He tiptoed and pressed his ear against the door. Someone was both panting and grunting, and there was a fumble of clothing. He kicked the door open and stopped short at the scene unfolding before him.

Moira was on her knees, looking all beautiful and seductive in that short skirt with tight straps. She glanced over her shoulder and shot Tate a tempting little smile, before going back to her previous business. Seated on the bed in front of her was the stranger who first attacked Sienna; he had his pants around his ankles, the black mask thrown over to the side, his hands goading Moira for more.

Tate almost retched at the sight. "And what _exactly_ are you doing?"

"Helping you clean up," young Moira answered, as the man flinched and noticed Tate and his axe. Before he could react, she pushed him back down on the mattress and straddled his hips. Her eyes were tantalizing the man as she wrapped her arms around his neck and let him kiss her jaw and exposed collarbone.

"I don't have it all night," Tate said with a hint of irritation in his voice. "I have to go downstairs and see Sienna."

Moira purred as her hips grinded against the man, eliciting a low groan from him. "We are almost done here," she murmured.

Feeling impatient and rather disgusted, Tate peeled Moira away from the man and hacked him down with his axe. He gave one blow, and another, while ensuring the man was still breathing.

"I told you we were almost done," Moira said from behind him. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and watched as the stranger fell from the bed. She sighed. "Now you got blood all over the floor."

"And on the dining floor, too." He finished hacking and stood over his masterpiece. "I don't want to see these guys hanging around when they die. Get that pompous goblin Larry to clean up the mess. That's all he's good for."

* * *

Sienna kept pacing back and forth, thumb between her teeth, as she muttered incoherent words to herself. In her mind, she could still feel that bastard's arms around her, knowing that his kind would always want to have a taste of carnal pleasure. It sent shivers down her spine and fear into her heart. Even now that she tried to keep herself occupied, her tears could not stop streaming down her face. Every time she wiped her cheeks, more tears followed. It was useless.

"Tate cares about you very much," Nora said out of nowhere.

"What?" Sienna stopped in her tracks, shooting the woman an incredulous look.

"I don't know, but he seems to like you more than the other ghosts here."

"Well if you count Patrick on that list, I suppose I am more tolerable than him."

"No, no, that's not what I meant." Nora shook her head and stood up from where she was sitting. She smiled tenderly and placed a hand on Sienna's cheek. "You are a very pretty girl, Sienna Hale. I am glad you're here."

"That hardly means anything."

"But you should try to be more gentle with Tate," Nora said, still all smiles. "I know he can be a little reckless and aggressive, and with a bit of a temper, too. But once you get to know him, once he lets you know him, you will have a very faithful friend in him."

"Oh, I see." Sienna did not understand the importance of these, but she nodded her head all the same.

"And you shouldn't be so hard on him. He takes it out on himself all the time."

Her amber eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

Suddenly, there was the sound of a door opening and someone's careful footsteps on the stairs. Nora and Sienna immediately fell silent and stiffened. If it was one of the trespassers, none of them could defend themselves.

"Sienna? Where are you?" Tate's gentle voice called out.

"Tate." She sighed in relief and emerged from the shadows. One look at him made her resolve crumble. Her lower lip trembled as she slowly made her way towards him. But he seemed impatient. He rushed to her and enveloped her in his warm embrace, while she rested her cheek against his chest. The sudden closeness meant nothing for the safety she felt in his arms.

He rubbed his cheek against the crown of her head. "Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?"

She shook her head, burying her nose against the crook of his neck. "Shaken, but still in one piece."

He chuckled and combed her hair, working through the tangles. Somewhere along the lines, Nora Montgomery disappeared. "Am I forgiven?"

"What?" She stepped back and searched his eyes. "Forgiven for what?"

"A-About you know…" He dropped his gaze to his feet as he fidgeted with unease. He bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders. How could he even show himself after he had done to her? "You hated me for it, the other day, when I−"

Her inquisitive gaze went from his face down to his wrists, still red with the cuts. "What happened to you?" she demanded and raised his hand to her eye level. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Oh, fuck." Tate forgot all about the cuts. He covered his eyes with his free hand while he listened to Sienna berating him.

"You should never have hurt yourself," came her rapid lecture. "Is this what Nora meant when you take it out on yourself? Cutting your wrist proves nothing, Tate! Even if I am angry with you or anything, never ever do something so stupid! Look at these. They look like cuts on a steak!"

Tate peeped at her between his fingers, childlike. "So am I forgiven?"

She sighed. "Promise me. No more cutting."

"Will you hate me if I cut myself?"

"Yes, very much."

"Okay, then I won't do it anymore," he promised, beaming at her like a boy. With a bright smile plastered on his face, he stepped forward to embrace her once more. Much to his surprise, she did not draw away like so many times. He appreciated that. "And I promise to let no one hurt you anymore. Whoever tries to hurt you or take you away, I won't let them."

Her tears drenched his sleeve, but he did not seem to care. "J-Just don't leave me, Tate…"

"I won't, I promise." He pulled away and smiled his bright smile. "Come on, we should return upstairs. I think Moira and Larry are done cleaning up."

"What happened to the bodies?" She shivered as she followed him up the stairs. She kept close distance to him, fearing that someone might jump onto them in the kitchen or library. When Tate suddenly halted, she bumped her nose against his shoulder and glared. "What?"

He looked down at her, his eyes softening. "Do you still hate me, Sienna?"

She blinked at his strange question. "No, Tate, I don't…"

"Can I stay with you in the library tonight then?" He started walking again, passing by the kitchen and climbing the stairs. Soon enough, the library loomed before them. He paused mid-step when he felt his friend stiffening. "What's the matter?"

"What if they come back?" she asked. She placed a hand over her heart and trembled with immense fear. If someone could enter the house so easily, then she would be in very grave danger from now on. Her eyes were glued to the doorway of the place she loved so much, but now it only haunted her images of a man assaulting her for his own selfish pleasure.

"No one's coming to get you," he assured her. He lifted her chin with his index finger and brushed his thumb against her bottom lip. If he could only do everything he wanted, everything would be perfect by now. "I promise: no one will hurt you. I will hurt them back if they even try to touch you."

She nodded as he pulled her towards the library. "You know, Troy and Bryan helped me escape."

"I know." He grinned and sat her down on the chaise longue. He kneeled on the floor, combed his fingers through her hair and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. To him, she looked incredibly exhausted. He had never seen her like this before. "We'll thank them both in the morning."

"Yes, I have to do that." She yawned and fell back on the couch, as Tate grabbed the blanket and pulled it over her smaller frame. "I feel like I can't sleep," she murmured. "I am so sick with fear."

"D'you want me to sing you a lullaby?" He chuckled as she rolled her eyes at him. "Or maybe get you some more pillows? Read you a book?"

She yawned and nuzzled her pillow. Her hand appeared from underneath the blanket and tugged at his hand. "Just stay, Tate. Wait until I fall asleep. Do whatever you want, but do not leave me alone please."

"Can I sleep on the couch, too?" he asked carefully, searching for her reaction. He could almost see her jolting up from the chaise lounge, glare at him, and start nagging him about the hundred reasons why he could not sleep beside her.

But as always, the way Sienna's mind worked was beyond him. Instead of scolding him, she nodded and scooted over to make space for him.

Tate rose from the floor and made himself comfortable beside her. His right arm snaked around Sienna's waist and pulled her toward him, and she rolled over to let her cheek rest against his left shoulder. She threw her arm across his torso, holding him firmly, as if making damned sure he would not go anywhere. He immediately melted from her touch. He sighed and tucked the blanket under Sienna's chin, and she answered with raising her head and smiling up at him.

"Sleep," he urged her, boldly kissing her forehead.

"Good night, Tate." She sighed and nuzzled closer.

"Good night," he whispered in against her hair. He wished this could go on forever. However, deep down, he knew this was only possible due to the sudden fright Sienna had today. Come morning, he thought miserably, she would go back to her usual prude self and shove him off the couch.

He laughed at that, but that would still happen in the morning. Right now, what mattered the most was the sleeping girl in his arms.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Phew! It has been a long while since I last updated this story. Forgive me everyone, but I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait. I thought that with the Harmons appearing soon, it would be better to establish a deeper connection between Tate and Sienna first. Because who knows? Tate might end up with Violet and that leaves Sienna on her own. My poor baby. But let's raise a wine glass for the heroic Tate and getting a reward (though I suppose he has to watch out for Sienna in the morning when she's all "sober"). LOL

I want to especially thank the reviewers from last chapter: _AwesomeFangirlOtaku01, GhostlySights, Emmettluver2010, dekusdante, Jenna, fangirl137,_ _kathaaaaaaaa1703, VampireLover17_ , and _pumpkinpuzzler_. Your ideas and suggestions are what makes this story going. Thank you so much, guys!

More opinions are greatly appreciated, folks! So please tell me your thoughts about how to make the story better. :)


	9. Issues

**Chapter 09**

 _ **Issues**_

* * *

The morning dawned awfully cold. Tate stirred from his slumber and groaned. He had had a nice dream last night, something he could not remember. Childish, he shut his eyes tighter and racked his brains in a desperate attempt to remember. He knew it was a good dream, because he felt warm and light and content. Tossing one arm over his eyes to block the bright sunlight, his other arm reached out across the chaise lounge and felt for something−or someone. His fingers grasped nothing but the blanket.

Dark eyes flinging open, Tate shot up the couch and looked wildly around the place. He was in the library, with the early morning sunlight spilling through the glass window from behind him. It cast a long shadow on the wooden floor. He tried to gather his wits about him, raking nervous fingers through his blond locks, trying to discern what or who was missing.

"Sienna?" His uncertain voice echoed in the library. Something felt heavy in his chest as he pounced to his feet and dashed out, bumping his shoulder on the doorframe in such a hurry. "Sienna?!" He leaped over the stairs and entered the kitchens, and saw Moira giving him a bewildered look.

"What's wrong, Tate?" the maid asked, blinking.

"Where's Sienna?" he asked in a panicked voice, his eyes flickering with anxiety. Then he said in a rapid tone. "We were sleeping in the library but when I woke, she was gone! Have you seen her? Did she come here?"

"Tate−" Moira started, but was cut off when Chad entered from the back gardens.

The dark-haired man stopped short, raising one elegant eyebrow at Moira, before turning to Tate. Chad's lips curled into the smallest of smiles at the sight of murder boy looking all pale and anxious, his dark blond hair jutting in all possible directions. A chuckle escaped Chad's lips as he crossed the kitchen and playfully bumped Tate on the shoulder while on his way to open the fridge. Much to his surprise, murder boy did not rise up to the challenge. Chad noticed that he remained nervous and trembling.

"So, what's the catch?" Chad leaned his elbows on the counter, eyes flicking from Moira to Tate.

"Have you seen Sienna?" Moira said.

Instead of answering, Chad turned his smug face to Tate's pale one. "Oh, the new girl is gone, is she? What have you done last night, pretty boy? I heard her running and shouting last night. I hope chasing after her with an axe doesn't count as foreplay for you."

Something else flickered in Tate's black eyes. Anger. He fumed and glared at Chad, curling his fists at his sides, but decided it was not worth it. He exhaled and turned on his heels. "Forget it. I'll go look for her myself."

Moira shrugged and returned to polishing the silverware.

Chad hummed. "So, murder boy turns to lover boy. Is that the catch now?"

"I think so. At least it keeps his mind elsewhere, instead of brooding in his room all day. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I agree to nothing." He snorted. "Murder boy is none of my concern." Chad winked at Moira and went back for the gardens, disappearing before he could even cross the threshold.

Upstairs, Tate Langdon nibbled on his thumbnail and walked back and forth. There were only a few places she could hide in the Murder House. If Sienna was not in the library and kitchen, then surely she should be in the attic with Beau. She had grown fond of his older brother's steady presence that she spent time there whenever she wanted to escape the noise of the other ghosts. In return, Beau became increasingly possessive of her, often wrapping his arms around her whenever Tate went up to take her away.

Tate gleamed at the idea of her being in the attic. He whirled around and crossed the hallways, but paused when he heard splashing noises from the second-floor bathroom. He dashed toward the bathroom and, given his haste to open it, had no time to adjust his strength. The door gave way from its hinges as he forced it open, and thus framed the scenery of Sienna standing before the mirror, without anything except for the white towel barely concealing her skin to his eyes. Her damp brown hair clung about her bare shoulders. Tate stood dazed for a few moments, chest heaving, eyes wide with surprise and absolute horror.

At once, Sienna shrieked at him and attempted to cover herself. "Out! Get out, Tate!"

"S-Sorry!" The infamous resident of Murder House, Tate Langdon, blushed scarlet and sputtered as he lowered his head and covered his eyes with a hand. He went out of the bathroom as swiftly as he had entered, cursing himself when he tried to close the door but found that he could not, since he had ripped it from its hinges in his haste.

"Get out, I said!" came the angry voice from inside.

"I can't! The door's broken!"

"The door won't be the only thing broken when I am done with you!"

Another curse escaped his lips. He tried to lean the door against the doorframe, and then took a careful step back to see if it would stand by itself. Hands on his hips, he stood back and admired his handy work, although Marcy would probably wet herself when she found the bathroom door destroyed. He debated whether staying outside or leaving would be the safest choice, but since he could still hear Sienna growling deep in her chest, Tate opted to make a quick getaway to the kitchen.

"Did you find her?" Moira questioned, offering him a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

"She was taking a bath," Tate said with a hint of an embarrassed groan sticking in his voice. He seated himself before the counter and covered his blushing face with his hands, hoping to God this was not happening.

"Ah, I did notice she likes taking baths."

"Can't see why," came the mumbling voice. "It's not like she's here for a vacation, you know. Or a slumber party. She doesn't even have clothes. Every time she bathes, it is just another episode of us finding clothes for her!"

The auburn-haired maid laughed softly. "I think it is rather amusing. She works hard to make herself feel alive. You cannot force that out of her, Tate. You know you can't."

He huffed, blowing the bangs off his forehead. Finally, he removed his hands and propped his chin on one hand, staring up at Moira. "I won't ever force her into anything. But I just really can't understand the way her mind works. It's like… You women are hard to understand to be honest. It makes me sick to the stomach. Constance is a cocksucker and you−" He paused, biting his lip. "Ah, never mind. You women are just confusing."

"You didn't spend enough time with women when you were alive, did you?" she mused.

"Oh, please." He let out an indignant snort and grabbed one of the cookies in the bowl, shoved an entire cookie into his mouth, speaking while crumbs flew everywhere. "I had been with women when I was in high school, okay? They were all into some weird shit, some cool shit, and others were just _blah_. Never even dated anyone that lasted for more than three weeks. Dating was such a pain in the ass back then, but I really don't care what has changed since then."

Moira glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "And what about Sienna?"

"Her?" Tate's dark eyes looked thoughtful for a while. "She's different from the others I encountered, that's for sure. Maybe it is the generation gap? I mean, technically, I am kind of some ten years older than her−which is kind of creepy, even for me. But still, Sienna?" He sighed, thinking more deeply. "I think she's amazing in every possible way."

"Why don't you tell her then?"

"No way!"

"I think you just did," Moira pointed out.

"What−?"

Then Sienna pushed herself off the doorframe where she had been listening all along, and entered the kitchens. She did not miss the mischievous smile that Moira had or the look of total horror in Tate's face. Quietly, she reached over Tate's head for a cookie and leaned back on the counter. Her eyebrow rose when she met Tate's horrified expression with an impassive one of her own.

"You have something to tell me?" she asked him, nibbling on her cookie.

"I-I got nothing," he sputtered.

"Of course you don't." She rounded the counter and helped herself with something to drink in the fridge.

Wearing nothing but an oversized long sleeved shirt, it looked loose on her, the hem reaching down to her thighs. Apart from that, she wore nothing else, which made Tate more uncomfortable. She bent over the fridge, her back turned towards him. Uneasily, Tate cleared his throat and turned away, occupying himself with the cookies while Moira was trying her best not to smile or laugh at them.

Sienna returned to the counter. "Want something to drink, Tate?"

He shot her a surprised look, quite caught off guard from her question. He shook his head, keeping his eyes off her bare thighs and legs. "Y-Yes, please. Thanks… Um−" He scratched the back of his head, sheepish. "Are… Are you sure you should be wearing… that…?"

She blinked and checked her clothes: a long sleeve black-and-red flannel shirt. "Why? What's the matter with what I am wearing? This doesn't belong to you, does it?"

"Well, no." He scratched his head again, trying to come up with the best possible words. "It's just that… I can see your skin and… I thought… Well, you see−"

"So, I am not allowed to show some skin?" Her eyebrow rose questioningly at him, as she poured them drinks. She offered a glass to him and he finished it in three quick gulps. She leaned forward on the counter, arms folded in front of her. "You were saying, murder boy?"

"Nothing." He shrugged it off, swiveling his chair away from her. "Never mind."

"If you say so." She let the idea go, none at all pleased to be entertaining this kind of topic anyway. She had not forgotten how he burst through the bathroom moments ago, but decided she did not need to make a fuss about it, especially after what happened last night. She was loath to admit that she was indebted to him, to his boy who let her murder happen with glee.

As if something clicked in her system, Sienna straightened herself and turned for the main entrance. She felt an odd presence coming, something foreboding that she would not like at all. Peering between the curtains, she saw two cars parked outside. Marcy emerged from one, looking all fresh and formal in her perfumsed hair and clothes. Three other people emerged from the second car. And from what she could see, she guessed they were a family.

"Oh, shit." Tate materialized behind her.

"Tate!" Sienna all but jumped. If she had been alive, this murder boy would have killed her with heart attacks. She glared at him over her shoulder. "What do you mean by that obscenity?"

"New family." A certain menace rumbled deep in his chest. His previous soft and sputtering demeanor was gone, replaced by the same fierce and ready warrior she witnessed last night. He took hold of her hand and forced her away from the windows, dragging her towards the second floor.

Moira exited the kitchen, a worried look on her face. "What is it?"

The blond boy pulled Sienna upstairs and shouted in a loud voice: "New family! Hide everyone!"

Sienna was trying to free her hand from his, but Tate's grip was so tight and his strength so formidable that she could not do anything, but let herself be pulled to wherever he deemed all right. She had no energy in her to argue, at least not at this moment when the chances of her being seen was indeed very high. She could not risk Marcy or the new family discovering she was here again, doing God-knows-what. Instead, she followed Tate, their hands clasped together.

"Where are we going? Not the basement, I hope."

"In my room." Tate opened the door and locked it behind them.

"You ninny." She put her hands on her hips and sighed. "If they come to this room and find it locked, they would be more suspicious. Leave it as it is and pray they don't come here."

"Fine." With a hidden roll of his eyes, he unlocked the door and backed away from it. Of all times to come, Marcy had to choose today. He just wished the family would not take the house, or at least someone might get spooked from its history and decide the house down the street was more interesting.

He turned around to see Sienna looking uncomfortable in his room. At first he wanted to ask why, but then he remembered what happened between them the last time they were both here together.

"Everything all right?"

She flinched at his voice, and rubbed her hands up and down her shoulders. "I'm good. Just tired."

He nodded, not wanting to press the idea further. "Don't worry. They won't come up here."

The awkward silence stretched for what seemed to be forever. Sienna seated herself on the edge of the bed, arms around herself, as she looked out of the window to keep her mind from worrying to much. Tate, on the other hand, was prowling like an anxious beast before the door, mumbling incoherent words to himself. Every time he heard something amiss, he stopped and pressed his ear on the door, making sure no one was coming upstairs to check the rooms. He really wished the family would just leave the house alone, for the ghosts who wanted to live here in peace.

Fifteen minutes into the silence, they both heard footsteps on the hallway. Fast as lightning, Tate grabbed Sienna and searched around the room, where they could hide. His room was spacious but there were too many blind spots. They could hide under the bed, but that would be uncomfortable. So Tate Langdon went for the next best possible option.

Sienna opened her mouth to disagree but Tate had already pulled her inside the small closet. She felt the entire length of her body pressed against Tate's as they shuffled inside, with Tate's head bowed over her shoulder while her legs are in between his own. The absence of light and air was suffocating enough, but they had no other choice as the footsteps sounded louder and closer.

"You just had to choose the closet, huh?" Sienna sharply whispered in his ear.

"Hey, if you want to hide under the bed, be my guest," Tate shot back, struggling to find a better position. His arms were on either side of her, keeping himself steady.

"Why should I be under the bed? It's yours! Go to it!"

"Shut up! Someone's coming!"

"W-Wait. What the hell?! _Something_ is poking my leg."

"Oh, Lord, save us," Tate grumbled. "That's not me."

"Get off, murder boy! I c-can't move! Get your hands away from me!"

"Hold on. I got you−"

Suddenly, the door to the bedroom opened. The two ghosts shuffled inside the closet clamped their mouths shut. Tate placed a hand over Sienna's mouth, knowing that anything could make her scream and bolt out of the room. They were both aware that Sienna, being unable to disappear like the other ghosts, had to rely on others to help her hide. Unfortunately, 'others' meant Tate.

Tate opened the closet door slightly ajar to see who came in. It was a teenaged girl, perhaps around his and Sienna's age, with light blonde hair and curious brown eyes. She wore a yellow cardigan over her dark purple dress, and a pair of dark boots. She wandered across the place, checking the shelves and bed and even the walls and windows. She had a peculiar ambiance in her that had Tate staring at her face, until she noticed the closet and began approaching it.

At once, Tate's eyes widened and he wrapped his protectively wrapped his arms around Sienna, hoping against all odds that his disappearing act as a ghost would extend to her. He kept her in place, his head pressed on hers to hide her entire petite build. He closed his eyes and ignored her futile attempts to break free. His hold on her tightened when the closet door banged open.

The girl pursed her lips as she saw nothing inside. The closet was old and small, roughly standing at her own height, with a rickety door and dusty hinges. She drummed her fingers on the door before shutting it again, and then turned for the shelves once more.

Then, there was a call from downstairs.

"Violet?" Someone was shouting.

"Ugh." The girl rolled her eyes and left the room. "Coming!"

Tate breathed a sigh of relief. He thought there could be no worse than a new family coming to live here. As it turned out, it was worse to have a new attractive girl moving in. He did not realize he had been thinking so much until the girl in his arms pounded her small fists on his back, trying to get away from his strong hold. He immediately let her go, horrified at his actions, and braced himself for another bout of cursing and scolding from her.

Instead of doing just those, Sienna dusted herself and stepped out of the closet. "That was a close call."

He followed her and shoved his hands in his jeans pocket. "Uh, y-yeah," he mumbled.

She took a deep breath and sat on the bed, parallel to him, her amber eyes staring up at him in wonder. Her oversized shirt hung loose about her shoulders, the hem falling to her thighs like a mini skirt. She noticed how Tate paled and moved away at the sight of her like that. She blinked. "You look like you're going to wet yourself sooner or later, murder boy. Tell me what has you so worried about."

He shot her a completely helpless look.

"Come on now." She grabbed a pillow and covered her lap with it. "Here's your chance."

"Your skin…" He pointed his chin to her exposed legs. "You shouldn't be showing that much skin."

"Why?"

"Don't make me say it, Sienna."

"No. You have me all confused. What is it about my skin that unsettles you?"

Tate crossed his arms over his chest and shot her a dark, intimidating look. Not to scare her even more, but to get his point across more effectively. "You were attacked before wearing short skirts, weren't you? Those… Those boys last Halloween… They did that to you because you were wearing a skirt…"

Sienna gaped at him as if it was the stupidest thing she had ever heard in her entire life. "Are you blaming me for what I wore on the night I died?" she demanded, her voice laced with sheer incredulity. She could not believe him! In no time, she began berating him.

"You should never blame a woman for what she wears. Nor for the ways he behaves or for the things she says. Rape is a crime that should not hold the woman responsible," she said passionately, tears stinging her eyes. No woman would want it to happen to them. No one ever asks for it. Do you know who needs to be blamed? The men, Tate. Those who rape the women. It is their fault, not ours. It is _never_ ours."

Tate blanched white the moment she started crying. He went down to his knees before her, prying her hands off her damp face. He mustered every inch of tenderness in his system and used it to hush her, to make her stop crying because he really could not stand seeing her cry, not like this. He brushed his thumb under her eyes and wiped her tears away.

"I'm sorry," he murmured gently. "Sienna, I am so very sorry. I did not mean it that way. I promise. I did not mean to offend you… It wasn't like that. I'm really sorry… Please forgive me…"

"Never mind." She sniffed and dabbed her fists against her eyes. "I got carried away. But I hope you understand what I am trying to say here."

"I do understand," he promised. "It's just… Really, I am so sorry."

"That's fine."

"Are you sure? You're not angry?"

"No, I am not angry."

"Really? You sound angry to me," he pointed out.

Sienna removed her hands from her eyes, and glared. "You really want to push your luck today?"

Tate smiled, beaming at her. "With you? Not a chance."

She nodded, wiping away the rest of her tears, and stood up. "Good. I am going back to the library."

"I will come with you."

* * *

It was a very rare occasion to have the residents of the Murder House gathered in the basement for a much-anticipated meeting. Everyone was huddled in the dark confinements of the basement, from Lorraine and her two girls, the twins, Elizabeth, the two nurses from Tate, Moira, and Chad and Patrick. Even Charles and Nora Montgomery were there, standing behind the crowd to hear what was being discussed.

"The family from this morning decided to take the house," Moira announced in a quiet, mournful tone.

There was a murmur of both interest and protest among the ghosts. Tate took up the center and clapped his hands to bring order. Everyone else fell quiet, submitting to the authority of the young man. Almost twenty years ago, he had taken up the reins to lead every ghost in the house, a responsibility he did not like boasting. There was nothing to boast about leading other melancholy ghosts.

Before Tate could speak, Chad spoke up. "I am not really thrilled to have another one in my house," he said while inspecting his nails.

Elizabeth stepped forward, smiling redly from ear-to-ear. "Me neither. I would rather have the house to ourselves."

"Well, we can't do anything about it now, can we?" Tate backfired. "Marcy has already sold the property to them, and tomorrow they will come back with their own furniture."

"Unless we can have you scaring the shit out of the family," Patrick pointed out.

"Or we could just let them stay here and let them decide if the house if really worth it," Moira interrupted before the two men started brawling again. To her distress, Sienna was not present to attend the meeting, preferring to lock herself in her library, her apprehension against the basement quite high.

Nora Montgomery approached the front of the crowd. Her heels rippled inside the room. "I wouldn't mind them staying as long they get a baby," she said to no one in particular, but her sad blue eyes were trained on Tate. "A baby, that's all I want."

Patrick shrugged her off, his powerful build making her look small and weak. "I am more concerned about what happened last night with those intruders. Can't believe they keep finding ways to get inside. We should do something about it, lest we want our new girl threatened again."

Chad glowed at the idea. "Yes. She still can't make herself disappear, can she?"

"That's right." Tate sighed and contemplated what to do. It would indeed very troublesome if Sienna still had no ideas about the extents of her abilities as a ghost. A new family on the way was the worst timing in the history of forever. He scratched his head, sighing in defeat. "You're right. We must protect Sienna at all costs. How does that sound?"

Again, the ghosts murmured in agreement.

Nora smiled at him. "As long as I get a baby, okay, Tate?"

Tate nodded. "That's a promise."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Sorry for the very late update, folks! It is just in time for this story's 2nd anniversary! Thank you very much to everyone who supported Tate and Sienna from the first chapter until now. I promise to update as much as I can, even if university can get in the way sometimes. LOL. Also, belated Happy Halloween everyone! Hope you've had a wonderful time.

And thus, here we have Tate being the sweet little psycho that he is. :3

* **GhostlySights** \- Thanks for your review! I do think the Tate/Violet pairing would be temporary, based on the happenings now. Besides, Tate did want Violet to leave the house and not to become a ghost like the rest of them. I think that would play an important role in their relationship. I am also very looking forward for Sienna's interactions with the Harmons. As for the shipping name, is it gonna be Siennate? Or Tienna, indeed? XD

* **EchoSerenade** \- Ooh! But Tate and Violet are already here! There's a storm brewing between those three.

* **Emmettluver2010** \- Thank you very much! _You_ are fabulous!

* **Turbs** \- Yes, I also missed writing Tate and Sienna together.

* **Jenna** \- Thank you! I do hope to write more of them trying to figure each other out and how to make things work between the two of them.


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